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OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

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Handbooks  of  Moral  and  Religious  Education 

EDITED  PV 

E.  HERSHEY  SNEATH,  PH.D.,  LL.D. 

Professor  of  the  Philosophy  of  Religion  and  Religious  Education, 

Yale  University 


THE 
PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

K«W  YORK    •    BOSTON  •    CHICAGO  •    DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •    SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY  •   CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF 
ADOLESCENCE 


BY 

FREDERICK  TRACY,  PH.D. 

Professor  of  Ethics  in  University  College,  University  of  Toronto 
Author  of  "The  Psychology  of  Childhood,"  etc. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1921 

All  Riikts  Kisentd 


COPTEIGHT.  1920, 

BT  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published,  November,  1920 


Education 
Librarj 


JI3S 


Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  inf ancy ; 

Shades  of  the  prison  house  begin  to  close 

Upon  the  growing  boy, 

But  he  beholds  the  light,  and  whence  it  flows, 

He  sees  it  in  his  joy; 

The  youth,  who  daily  farther  from  the  east 

Must  travel,  still  is  nature's  priest, 

And  by  the  vision  splendid 

Is  on  his  way  attended; 

At  length  the  man  perceives  it  die  away, 

And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day. 

—  Wordsworth. 


89O4CO 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE 

The  books  of  this  Series  are  designed  to  serve  as  manuals 
for  teachers  in  the  field  of  moral  and  religious  education. 
The  Series  will  comprise  volumes  on  the  Psychology  of  Child- 
hood, the  Psychology  of  Adolescence,  the  Psychology  of 
Education,  the  Psychology  of  Religion,  the  Principles  and 
Methods  of  Moral  and  Religious  Education,  Elementary  and 
Secondary  Moral  and  Religious  Instruction,  Religious 
School  Organization  and  Equipment,  etc.  The  books  will 
be  prepared  by  well  known  specialists.  The  following  vol- 
umes will  be  included  in  the  series :  — 

1.  CHILD  PSYCHOLOGY  (To  be  arranged.} 

2.  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE  (Ready.} 

Frederick  Tracy,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  Philosophy,  University 
of  Toronto. 

3.  THE  PSYCHOLOGICAL  BASIS  OF  EDUCATION      (In  preparation.} 

Stephen  Sheldon  Colvin,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  the  Psychology 
of  Education,  Brown  University. 

4.  THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  RELIGION  (In  preparation.} 

Luther  A.  Weigle,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  Christian  Nurture, 
Yale  University. 

5.  CHARACTER  BUILDING  (In  preparation.} 

Edwin    A.    Kirkpatrick,    M.Ph.,    Director   of    Child    Study, 
Fitchburg  State  Normal  School. 

6.  PRINCIPLES  AND  METHODS  OF  RELIGIOUS  EDUCATION 

(In  preparation.} 

Luther  A.  Weigle,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  Christian  Nurture, 
Yale  University. 

7.  MORAL  TRAINING  IN  THE  SCHOOL  AND  HOME  (Ready.} 

E.  Hershey  Sneath,  Ph.D.,  LL.D.,  Professor  of  the  Philosophy 
of  Religion  and  Religious  Education,  Yale  University, 
vii 


viii  EDITOR'S  PREFACE 

George  Hodges,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  Dean  of  the  Episcopal  Theo- 
logical School,  Cambridge. 

8.  MORAL  EDUCATION  IN  THE  HIGH  SCHOOL    (In  preparation.) 

Frank  Chapman  Sharp,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of  Philosophy,  Uni- 
versity of  Wisconsin. 

9.  RELIGIOUS  TRAINING  IN  HOME  AND  SCHOOL  (Ready.) 

E.  Hershey  Sneath,  Ph.D.,  LL.D.,  Professor  of  the  Philosophy 
of  Religion  and  Religious  Education,  Yale  University. 

George  Hodges,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  Dean  of  the  Episcopal  Theo- 
logical School,  Cambridge. 

Henry  Hallam  Tweedy,  M.A.,  Professor  of  Practical  The- 
ology, Yale  University. 

10.  MATERIAL  AND  EQUIPMENT  FOR  MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS  EDU- 
CATION (To  be  arranged.) 


PREFACE 

That  period  of  life  technically  known  as  Adolescence, 
untechnically  as  the  time  of  Youth,  and  colloquially  as  the 
Teen  Age,  covering  the  years  from  the  advent  of  puberty 
to  the  attainment  of  maturity,  and  roughly  identical  with 
the  days  of  high  school  and  college  education,  has  been 
widely  and  carefully  studied,  from  every  point  of  view,  dur- 
ing recent  years,  and  our  knowledge  of  it  has  been  corre- 
spondingly enriched.  The  purpose  of  the  present  work  is 
not  primarily  to  add  to  the  number  of  those  valuable  records 
which  embody  the  results  of  investigations  into  the  ado- 
lescent mind  from  this  or  that  point  of  view;  but  rather  to 
survey  the  whole  field,  having  in  mind  the  leading  facts,  as 
presented  in  these  psychological  and  biological  researches, 
as  well  as  the  fundamental  categories  of  valuation,  as  set 
forth  in  the  philosophy  of  morals,  of  religion,  and  of  educa- 
tion; and  to  place  the  results  of  this  survey  in  the  hands  of 
the  teacher,  within  the  modest  compass  of  a  "  handbook." 

This  being  the  end  in  view,  it  appeared  neither  feasible 
nor  desirable  to  burden  the  pages  of  the  book  with  elab- 
orate details,  or  to  occupy  much  space  with  the  minutiae 
of  individual  cases;  but  rather  to  undertake  the  much  more 
difficult  task  of  obtaining,  through  a  careful  study  of  these 
individual  cases,  as  intimate  an  acquaintance  as  possible  with 
the  average  youth  and  maiden,  and  of  passing  on  to  the 
busy  teacher  the  knowledge  so  gained. 

Such  observations  as  the  author  has  made  on  his  own 
account,  though  playing  the  chief  part  in  determining  his 
conclusions,  have  not  for  the  most  part  been  reduced  to  the 
statistical  form,  and  do  not  appear  in  tables  in  the  follow- 
ing chapters.  They  have  been  made  in  the  course  of  many 
years  spent  in  the  teaching  profession,  during  which  he  has 
had  the  privilege  of  intimate  association  with  some  thou- 


x  PREFACE 

sands  of  adolescents,  of  both  sexes,  chiefly  in  school  and 
college  life.  If  a  lifetime  spent  in  teaching  has  brought 
any  insight  into  the  nature  of  youth,  and  with  it  any  vision 
of  the  supreme  educational  end,  and  if  these  have  found 
clear  expression  in  the  pages  that  follow,  then  the  publica- 
tion of  the  book  may  be  regarded  as  justified. 

At  the  same  time  the  author's  indebtedness  to  other 
workers  in  the  same  field  is  greater  than  can  be  easily  ex- 
pressed. The  appended  bibliography,  while  by  no  means 
complete,  will  convey  some  idea  of  that  indebtedness.  It 
goes  without  saying  that  the  books  and  articles  mentioned 
there  are  not  all  of  equal  value;  and  it  is  in  no  invidious 
spirit,  but  as  a  matter  of  simple  justice,  that  I  make  special 
mention  here  of  the  work  of  Lancaster,  Hall,  Starbuck, 
James  and  Coe,  as  pre-eminently  helpful. 

I  am  indebted  to  my  friend  Dr.  Oswald  C.  J.  Withrow, 
who  kindly  read  the  manuscript  of  Chapter  III,  and  gave 
me  some  valuable  suggestions,  which  I  was  able  to  adopt, 
with  advantage  to  the  book. 

FREDERICK  TRACY. 

University  of  Toronto, 
Jan.  24th,  1920. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PREFACE vii 

CHAPTER 

I    A  PRELIMINARY  SURVEY i 

II    GENERAL  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  VARIOUS  LIFE- 
STAGES     10 

III  THE  BODY 24 

IV  THE  MIND:    GENERAL  TREATMENT 37 

V    INSTINCT  AND  HABIT 47 

VI    EMOTION,  OR  THE  CAPACITY  TO  FEEL 70 

VII  INTELLECT,  OR  THE  CAPACITY  TO  THINK    ....     83 

VIII    WILL,  OR  THE  CAPACITY  TO  ACT 101 

IX  SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  AND  THE  SOCIAL  ORDER  .     .     .119 

X    SEX 132 

XI  THE  APPRECIATION  OF  BEAUTY  IN  NATURE  AND  ART  148 

XII    THE  MORAL  LIFE 160 

XIII  THE  RELIGIOUS  LIFE 182 

XIV  THE  PEDAGOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 206 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 236 


THE 
PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

CHAPTER  I 


The  author  of  this  book  is  convinced  of  the  necessity  of 
combining  analysis  and  synthesis,  induction  and  deduction, 
observation  and  interpretation,  facts  and  theories,  in  any 
study  of  the  kind  here  undertaken,  if  that  study  is  to  yield 
satisfactory  results.  The  analysis  of  concrete  totals  into 
their  constituent  factors  must  go  hand  in  hand  with  the  con- 
structive synthesis  of  those  factors  in  the  total.  A  whole 
can  be  rightly  understood  only  in  relation  to  its  parts,  and 
the  parts  only  in  relation  to  one  another  and  to  the  whole. 
A  fact  is  of  little  value  except  as  apprehended  in  its  setting; 
and  this  is  interpretation  which  involves  theory;  while  con- 
versely, all  interpretation  must  proceed  on  the  basis  of  facts, 
and  find  its  incentive  and  its  justification  in  the  purpose  to 
know  those  facts  more  thoroughly;  that  is,  to  know  them  in 
their  wider  and  deeper  significance.  Since  observation  is 
directed  towards  the  particular,  and  interpretation  towards 
the  universal,  the  former  of  these  without  the  latter  (to 
speak  in  Kantian  phraseology)  is  blind,  the  latter  without 
the  former  is  void. 

He  is  further  persuaded  that  the  concrete  total  which  is 
before  him  in  the  present  undertaking  is  the  individual  hu- 
man life,  occupying  its  place  in  the  world,  played  upon  by 
multifarious  forces  from  without,  profoundly  influenced  by 
other  forces  that  are  within,  moulded  and  shaped  at  every 
moment  through  those  dispositions  and  native  tendencies 
that  are  its  inheritance  from  the  past,  and  by  those  influ- 


2       THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

enccs,  material  and  social,  that  are  all  about  it  in  the  present; 
reacting  incessantly  to  those  influences;  and  developing, 
from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  as  an  enduring  identity,  though 
these  actions  and  reactions,  both  external  and  internal,  are 
exceedingly  diversified  in  their  nature  and  complicated  in 
their  mode  of  operation. 

Applying  to  the  subject  before  us  the  principles  here  laid 
down,  it  becomes  clear  that  no  single  period  or  stage  in  the 
life  of  the  individual  can  be  adequately  dealt  with  except  in 
relation  to  the  whole  life;  that  no  single  phase  or  capacity 
of  the  individual  mind  can  be  properly  understood  except  in 
relation  to  its  other  capacities  and  phases;  that  no  single 
reaction  is  intelligible  except  in  relation  to  the  total  setting, 
of  circumstance  and  stimulus,  in  which  it  occurred;  and  that 
no  single  personality  can  be  fully  accounted  for  except  in  its 
reciprocal  relations  with  the  other  members  of  the  social 
order. 

The  division  of  the  span  of  life  into  periods  is  a  con- 
venient device,  justified  by  the  facts  of  growth,  and  highly 
useful  for  purposes  of  study;  yet  these  periods  do  not  stand 
apart  from  one  another,  separated  by  rigid  lines  of  demarca- 
tion. Carried  away  by  the  relatively  abrupt  and  pro- 
nounced changes  that  occur,  for  example,  about  the  begin- 
ning of  the  teens,  some  writers  have  permitted  themselves 
to  speak  of  the  years  that  follow  as  though  they  had  little  or 
nothing  in  common  with  the  years  that  precede.  The  or- 
ganic connection  of  the  different  stages  or  periods  with  one 
another  is  much  obscured  and  minimized.  Differences  are 
emphasized  at  the  expense  of  similarities.  I  recall  one 
work  in  which  the  author  says  in  substance :  Nature  has  been 
busy,  up  to  the  age  of  ten  or  twelve,  in  building  a  body  for 
the  child;  she  then  proceeds,  during  the  next  three  or  four 
years,  to  install  his  emotional  nature;  and  after  that  to  give 
him  an  intellect.  There  is  of  course  a  glimmer  of  truth 
here,  but  the  statement  is  almost  grotesquely  false  in  that  it 
ignores  the  continuity  of  individual  development,  and  the 
identity  of  individual  being  throughout  all  the  stages  of 
that  development 


A  PRELIMINARY  SURVEY  3 

It  is  extremely  misleading  to  speak  of  the  growth  of  a 
human  being  in  terms  that  only  befit  the  construction  of  a 
factory.  Personality  is  not  an  artifact,  that  it  should  be  de- 
scribed after  this  manner.  The  child  is  born,  not  made. 
And  his  development  proceeds,  not  by  additions  from  with- 
out, but  by  unfoldings  from  within;  not  by  mechanical  ac- 
cretion, but  by  vital  and  dynamical  self-realization. 

It  seems  to  me  quite  possible,  moreover,  to  lay  an  exag- 
gerated emphasis  upon  the  differences  between  children  and 
adults.  It  is  quite  true,  of  course,  that  these  differences  are 
great  and  striking,  but  they  are  differences  of  degree  rather 
than  of  kind,  and  they  are  underlaid  by  far  more  funda- 
mental identities.  It  is  quite  true  that  the  babe  and  the 
man  differ  widely  in  respect  of  the  relative  size  and  weight 
of  the  various  parts  and  organs  of  the  body.  It  is  quite  true 
that  the  food  taken  into  the  system  serves,  in  the  one  case, 
for  the  repair  of  waste,  while  in  the  other  it  goes  also  to 
the  formation  of  new  tissue  and  the  augmentation  of  energy. 
It  is  also  quite  true  that  the  mental  attitude  of  a  child  seems 
in  some  cases  to  be  such  that  adults  have  difficulty  in  under- 
standing him;  but  this  is  because  of  the  imperfection  of  the 
child's  means  of  communication,  and  not  at  all  because  his 
attitude  is  really  foreign  to,  or  unthinkable  by,  the  adult 
mind.  The  processes  of  association,  of  psycho-physical  cor- 
relation, of  sensori-motor  reaction,  of  instinct,  of  attention, 
of  apperception,  and  of  habit,  are  identical  in  principle,  dif- 
fering only  as  the  immature  differs  from  the  mature,  that  is, 
in  the  firmness  and  breadth  of  the  associative  connexions,  in 
the  volume  and  range  of  ideas,  and  in  the  degree  of  power 
and  precision  in  volitional  action. 

If  the  child  and  the  man  were  different  sorts  of  beings, 
then  our  psychology  of  the  adult  mind  would  throw  no  light 
on  the  nature  of  the  child  mind,  and  our  child  study  would 
help  us  not  a  whit  in  the  understanding  of  the  adult  con- 
sciousness; but  I  hardly  think  that  any  competent  psycholo- 
gist would  subscribe  to  propositions  of  that  kind.  Every- 
where, not  only  between  the  child  and  the  adult,  but  between 
one  child  and  another,  between  one  adult  and  another,  be- 


4       THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

tween  men  and  women,  between  men  of  one  race  and  men 
of  another  race,  we  find  the  most  striking  differences;  differ- 
ences so  striking,  indeed,  that  often  one  individual  is  forced 
to  say  of  another, — "  His  mental  attitude  is  so  foreign  that 
I  cannot  comprehend  it."  This,  however,  does  not  make 
them  beings  of  different  kinds  essentially.  For  great  and 
important  as  the  differences  are,  the  likenesses  are  greater 
and  more  important  still;  for  they  are  fundamental  and 
essential,  while  the  differences  are  incidental  and  accessory. 

In  sharp  contrast,  then,  to  the  view  sometimes  expressed, 
that  the  various  periods  of  life  are  so  strikingly  different 
from  one  another  that  there  must  be  virtually  a  separate 
psychology  for  each,  the  position  taken  here  is  that  there  is 
only  one  psychology,  because  mind  in  its  essential  features  is 
everywhere  the  same;  that  this  one  psychology  has  many 
chapters;  and  that  it  must  be  essentially  developmental  and 
dynamic  in  its  spirit  and  method,  never  losing  sight  of  the 
fact  that  it  has  to  deal,  not  with  things  that  can  be  described 
and  inventoried  once  for  all,  but  with  living  processes  and 
forces  that  reveal  new  and  striking  features  even  while  under 
the  observer's  attention. 

The  difference  between  this  point  of  view  and  the  other 
may  be  largely  a  difference  of  relative  emphasis,  or  even  of 
terminology,  but  the  important  thing  is  that  in  the  study  of 
a  given  child  we  have  to  do,  not  with  several  different  things, 
one  after  the  other,  but  with  one  individual,  whose  single 
nature  is  unfolding  itself  throughout  the  course  of  its  his- 
tory, whether  in  childhood,  boyhood,  youth,  or  manhood; 
that  these  are  phases  or  stages  of  that  single  development; 
and  that  the  division  into  periods  is  instrumental  and  me- 
thodological rather  than  fundamental  and  essential.  The 
primal  fact  is  that  an  individual  life  is  running  its  course;  the 
secondary  fact  is  that  this  course  falls  conveniently  into  sev- 
eral stages,  rather  clearly  marked  by  certain  distinctive  char- 
acteristics. 

The  justification  of  our  divisions  lies  in  the  fact  that,  at 
certain  stages  there  is  an  acceleration  of  development  along 


A  PRELIMINARY  SURVEY  $ 

certain  lines;  powers  and  capacities  that  heretofore  had  re- 
mained in  abeyance  now  move  forward  swiftly  towards  full- 
blown effectiveness,  and  whole  areas  of  feeling  and  ideation 
come  for  the  first  time  into  clear  consciousness.  Yet  these 
powers  and  capacities  were  there  all  the  while,  slowly  gath- 
ering momentum  beneath  the  surface,  as  the  bud  gathers 
momentum  unnoticed,  ready  for  the  day  when  it  shall  burst 
open  and  reveal  itself  as  the  flower.  Childhood,  boyhood, 
youth,  and  maturity  are  one  continuum.  The  transition 
from  any  one  of  these  to  the  next  is  not  made  by  all  persons 
at  the  same  time  of  life,  nor  with  the  same  suddenness.  In 
all  cases  it  is  a  genuine  evolution,  though  in  some  cases  it 
bears  a  close  superficial  resemblance  to  revolution. 

Adolescence,  then,  is  not  a  life  by  itself,  but  a  stage  in  the 
total  life.  The  attempt  to  study  it  by  itself  alone  would 
inevitably  end  in  misunderstanding.  Striking  and  charac- 
teristic as  its  peculiar  features  are,  they  have  their  prepara- 
tory conditions  in  the  preceding  periods,  and  many  of  their 
effects  persist  unto  the  end  of  life.  There  is  no  character- 
istic of  adolescence  whose  germ  may  not  be  found  in  child- 
hood, and  whose  consequences  may  not  be  traced  in  ma- 
turity and  old  age.  No  adequate  understanding  of  this 
period  is  possible  unless  one  looks  also  beyond  the  period 
in  both  directions.  They  little  know  of  adolescence  who 
only  adolescence  know.  Back  of  adolescence  are  boyhood 
and  childhood,  and  back  of  childhood  are  the  forces  of 
heredity,  and  all  about  the  individual  are  the  diverse  oper- 
ations of  the  environment;  while  on  the  other  hand  youth 
develops  into  maturity  and  maturity  is  succeeded  by  se- 
nescence, decay  and  death.  Nay,  further,  according  to  the 
prevailing  view  of  our  race,  the  individual  was  made  to 
continue  into  a  life  beyond  that  which  now  is;  and  in  the 
consideration  of  what  he  is,  as  well  as  of  that  which  he 
should  become  through  education,  all  these  things  should  be 
taken  into  account. 

A  parallel  remark  is  called  for  in  reference  to  the  so- 
called  faculties  or  powers  of  the  mind.  These  are  not  sepa- 


6       THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

rate  from  one  another,  but  are  bound  together  in  the  unity 
of  the  mental  life.  The  time-honored  division  of  the 
psychic  powers  into  feeling,  thought,  and  will,  with  the  va- 
rious sub-divisions  falling  under  these,  is  of  great  impor- 
tance and  value,  and  cannot  profitably  be  discarded;  but 
these  are  distinguishable  features,  not  separate  things.  The 
unity  of  the  mental  life  is  the  one  inescapable  fact,  the  di- 
versity of  its  operations  is  the  other.  Neither  of  these  must 
be  lost  sight  of.  The  individual  is  not  to  be  thought  of 
as  now  thinking,  now  feeling,  now  acting;  but  in  any  and 
every  concrete  expression  of  himself  there  are  cognitive, 
affective,  and  conative  factors,  varying  in  all  conceivable 
degrees  of  relative  prominence  or  intensity.  And  none  of 
these  is  what  it  is  without  the  others. 

Perhaps  at  no  other  time  in  the  entire  life  is  this  intimate 
connexion  among  the  various  mental  processes  more  evi- 
dent than  during  the  period  of  youth;  though  on  the  other 
hand,  it  must  also  be  pointed  out  that  this  interconnexion 
is  less  steady  and  uniform  than  in  the  later,  or  even  in  the 
next  earlier  period.  The  relation  between  thoughts  and 
feelings,  and  between  each  of  these  and  conduct,  though  less 
mechanical  than  in  boyhood,  and  less  settled  and  defined 
than  in  maturity,  is  nevertheless  exceedingly  close  and  vital. 
And  the  aim  of  education,  at  all  ages,  but  especially  now, 
should  be  to  bring  about  a  healthy  and  vigorous  correlation 
among  all  these  powers,  under  the  control  of  a  cultivated 
intelligence. 

The  dominant  convictions  under  which  the  following  pages 
are  written,  may  then  be  stated  somewhat  as  follows: 
_The  point  of  view  throughout  is  teleological.  The  edu- 
cational end,  I  trust,  is  never  lost  sight  of,  and  ethical  values 
are  always  in  the  forefront.  Facts  are  prized  chiefly  be- 
cause they  help  to  clarify  our  vision  of  that  educational  end 
and  of  those  ethical  values,  or  throw  light  upon  the  means 
by  which  they  may  be  realized.  In  the  early  days  of  the 
Child  Study  movement,  one  of  its  wisest  exponents  remarked 
that  child  study  existed  "  primarily  for  the  sake  of  the  child, 


A  PRELIMINARY  SURVEY  7 

secondarily  for  the  sake  of  the  teacher,  and  incidentally  for 
the  sake  of  science."  This  is  the  point  of  view  adopted 
here.  We  study  the  nature  of  youth  in  order  that  we  may 
be  of  some  service  to  youth  in  its  efforts  to  find  itself  and 
come  into  the  full  possession  of  its  own  moral  and  spiritual 
heritage.  We  may  hope,  through  this  larger  understand- 
ing, to  be  helpful  to  youth  in  a  positive  and  direct  way,  but 
certainly  at  least  in  a  negative  and  indirect  way.  We  may 
hope  at  least  to  understand  when  to  stand  aside,  refrain 
from  meddling,  and  let  nature  have  her  perfect  work.  The 
study  of  youth,  like  the  study  of  childhood,  should  teach  us 
to  respect  individuality  and  the  sacred  rights  of  personality, 
and  to  put  no  occasion  of  stumbling  in  the  way  of  one  of 
these  little  ones. 

No  apology  should  be  necessary  for  laying  emphasis  on 
the  vision  of  the  ideal  of  human  life,  and  of  all  ultimate 
values,  such  as  comes  through  reflection  on  the  problems 
of  philosophy,  and  through  study  of  the  questions  raised 
for  us  by  ethics  and  religion.  It  is  but  natural,  therefore, 
that  the  longest  chapters  in  the  book  should  be  devoted  to 
the  consideration  of  the  moral  and  religious  life,  and  to  the 
meaning  and  method  of  education.  To  these  great  topics 
all  else  may  be  regarded  as  tributary  and  contributory. 
Our  supreme  interest  is  in  personal  character  and  the  means 
by  which  it  may  be  most  fully  realized.  What  that  realiza- 
tion would  involve,  could  it  be  made  complete,  we  do  not 
of  course  pretend  to  know,  but  among  the  criteria  by  which 
we  may  get  the  measure  of  its  attainment  at  any  given  point, 
there  are  two  that  seem  worthy  of  being  placed  in  the  fore- 
front in  this  preliminary  survey,  and  kept  continually  before 
us  throughout.  And  this,  not  because  they  are  new,  but 
because  of  their  profound  significance  in  educational  theory, 
and  their  rich  fruitfulness  in  educational  practice. 

The  first  of  these  might  be  expressed  by  some  such  term 
as  "  wholeness,"  "  symmetry,"  or  "  balance."  It  was  a 
favorite  thought  with  the  Greeks.  A  man's  character 
could  be  judged  by  its  symmetry.  The  highest  type  of 


8       -THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

man  was  one  in  whose  character  there  were  no  ugly  ex- 
crescences and  no  glaring  defects.  Physically,  the  ideal 
was  not  a  professional  specialist,  but  an  all-round  athlete, 
in  whose  make-up  no  muscle  was  atrophied  and  none  hyper- 
trophied.  Intellectually,  the  ideal  was  a  man  who  could 
see  truth  in  all  its  bearings  and  from  every  point  of  view; 
a  type  of  mind  which,  in  its  highest  form,  became  the  "  spec- 
tator of  all  time  and  all  existence."  Morally,  it  was  a  man 
whose  desires  and  appetites  were  well  co-ordinated  and 
perfectly  adjusted  to  one  another  and  to  the  total  require- 
ments of  his  life.  Of  such  a  one  the  word  "  integrity  " 
might  be  used,  in  its  etymological  sense  of  "  wholeness." 
As  the  ideal  state  was  the  embodiment  of  justice,  in  the 
sense  that  all  the  social  groups  that  made  up  the  state 
were  perfectly  adjusted  to  one  another,  so  that  there  was 
no  friction  in  the  operation  of  the  political  machinery;  so 
the  ideal  individual  was  the  incarnation  of  justice,  in  the 
sense  that  all  his  powers  were  in  perfect  and  frictionless 
harmony  with  one  another  in  the  totality  of  his  being. 

It  seems  to  me  difficult  to  improve  upon  this  conception 
of  the  human  ideal.  It  is  deep  enough  to  cover  all  that 
is  connoted  by  the  profoundest  terms  in  our  Christian  the- 
ology, and  comprehensive  enough  to  make  room  for  the 
most  ambitious  program  in  religious  education.  Whatever 
might  be  said  in  the  interests  of  that  specialization  which 
becomes  a  practical  necessity  in  most  adult  lives,  the  true 
educational  ideal  for  childhood  and  youth,  as  well  as  the 
best  preparation  for  that  specialization  itself,  is  that  which 
is  expressed  in  such  terms  as  we  have  used  above,  or  in 
that  fine  old  academic  phrase,  "  a  liberal  education." 

The  second  of  the  two  criteria  of  personal  development 
I  would  like  to  express  by  such  terms  as  "  control," 
"  mastery,"  and  the  like.  The  idea  of  control  and  the 
idea  of  wholeness  are  closely  connected.  Neither  can  be 
fully  attained  without  the  other.  The  clement  of  control 
belongs  to  the  education  of  the  will;  but  will  itself  is  noth- 
ing other  than  the  power  of  intelligent  self-direction.  And 


A  PRELIMINARY  SURVEY  9 

so  by  control  is  meant  that  condition  of  the  inner  life  in 
which  all  the  psychic  forces  are  in  harmony,  because  they 
are  all  conformed  to  a  dominant  idea  and  purpose.  As- 
suming, of  course,  that  this  dominant  purpose  is  a  whole- 
some one,  then  the  real  meaning  of  education,  from  this 
point  of  view,  is  the  regulation  and  direction  of  every  im- 
pulse and  instinct,  every  desire  and  prompting,  by  this 
dominant  purpose.  It  will  readily  be  seen  that  this  means 
harmony  as  well  as  control;  harmony,  indeed,  through  con- 
trol. And  that  this  is  at  least  one  way  of  stating  the  su- 
preme purpose  and  meaning  of  education,  will  hardly  be 
disputed. 


GENERAL   CHARACTERISTICS   OF   THE   VARIOUS 
LIFE-STAGES 

In  the  course  of  the  average  human  life,  that  runs  its 
normal  course,  there  are  three  divisional  points  of  more 
than  ordinary  importance.  The  first  of  these  is  marked 
by  the  birth  of  the  procreative  powers;  the  second  by  the 
attainment  of  full  maturity  in  regard  to  all  the  powers  of 
mind  and  body;  and  the  third  by  the  beginning  of  their  de- 
terioration. In  the  life  of  every  organism  there  is  a  con- 
stant struggle  between  the  forces  that  make  for  its  up- 
building and  those  that  make  for  its  destruction.  Up  to 
the  point  which  we  call  maturity  the  forces  of  construction 
prevail  over  the  forces  of  destruction;  during  the  period  of 
mature  life  the  battle  may  be  said  to  be  drawn;  while  the 
third  point  is  marked  by  the  beginning  of  the  ascendancy  of 
the  forces  of  destruction. 

This  gives  us,  then,  to  begin  with,  four  main  divisions  of 
life.  The  first  extends  from  the  birth  of  the  body  to  the 
birth  of  the  procreative  functions.  This  period  may  be 
called  the  period  of  childhood,  and  it  embraces,  roughly 
speaking,  about  the  first  dozen  years  of  life.  The  second 
extends  from  the  birth  of  the  procreative  functions  to  the 
full  maturing  of  all  the  powers.  This  is  the  period  of  youth, 
or  adolescence,  and  it  embraces,  roughly  speaking,  about 
the  second  dozen  years  of  life.  The  third  extends  over  the 
whole  time  during  which  the  individual  continues  to  enjoy 
the  unimpaired  use  of  his  powers.  It  is  the  period  of  man- 
hood, and  its  extent  may  be  indicated,  very  roughly  indeed, 
as  the  third  and  fourth  dozens  of  the  years  of  life.  The 
fourth  period  extends  from  the  beginning  of  the  decay 
of  the  powers  to  the  consummation  of  that  decay  in  the 

10 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  LIFE-STAGES       n 

fact  of  death.  It  is  the  period  of  senescence;  and  if  we 
wish  to  assist  our  memories  by  continuing  to  reckon  in 
dozens,  its  extent  may  be  put  down,  still  more  roughly,  as 
the  fifth  and  sixth  dozens  of  the  years  of  life.  Thus  if 
an  ordinary  life  lasts  72  years,  we  may  divide  that  life  into 
six  equal  parts,  calling  the  first  childhood,  the  second  adoles- 
cence, the  third  and  fourth  maturity,  and  the  fifth  and  sixth 
senescence.  Or,  putting  childhood  and  youth  together,  we 
see  that  such  a  life  falls  into  three  equal  parts,  and  that  the 
first  of  these  parts  is  consumed  in  the  attainment  of  ma- 
turity. 

The  period  of  childhood  is  usually  subdivided,  for  pur- 
poses of  minuter  study,  into  two  or  more  parts.  If  the  di- 
vision is  two-fold,  the  dividing  line  is  drawn  about  the  eighth 
year;  and  in  that  case  the  first  eight  years  are  known  as 
childhood,  and  the  next  four  as  boyhood  (or  girlhood). 

The  period  of  youth  may  also  be  subdivided,  and 
usually  is,  into  two,  or,  by  some  writers,  into  three  parts. 
In  the  latter  case  the  divisions  are  known  as  early,  middle, 
and  later  adolescence.  I  am  not  convinced  of  the  value  of 
a  three-fold  division;  but  it  does  seem  clear  that  the  first 
four  or  five  years  of  the  teens  show  characteristics  suffi- 
ciently well  marked  to  distinguish  these  years  somewhat 
from  those  that  follow,  and  so  to  justify  a  two-fold  divi- 
sion. On  that  basis  we  shall  speak  of  early  and  later 
adolescence,  with  the  dividing  line  somewhere  about  the 
sixteenth  or  seventeenth  year. 

We  may  now  try  to  indicate,  somewhat  more  carefully, 
why  these  divisions  are  made,  and  what  are  the  leading 
characteristics  of  each  period. 

Early  childhod,  then,  or  childhood  proper,  extends  from 
birth  to  the  time  when  the  representative  powers,  memory 
and  imagination,  attain  to  effective  control  of  the  material 
provided  by  the  senses.  It  is  not,  of  course,  denied 
that  these  powers  are  operative  in  the  earliest  child- 
hood. No  doubt  the  very  first  sensation  experienced 
by  an  infant  leaves  behind  it  some  faint  traces  of 


12     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

itself,  and  is  to  some  slight  extent  susceptible  of  reten- 
tion and  recall.  But  it  is  not  for  some  years  that  the 
power  to  re-present  these  sense  experiences  in  memory  and 
imagination  begins  to  be  exercised  with  any  large  measure 
of  definiteness  and  volitional  control.  Sensations  are  abun- 
dant, but  they  receive  a  minimum  of  interpretation.  Asso- 
ciative connexions  are  beginning  to  form  among  the  mental 
contents,  but  the  associations  are  weak,  evanescent,  and 
non-causal.  Judgment,  and  rational  discrimination,  involv- 
ing concepts  and  categories,  are  operative,  as  yet,  rather 
potentially  than  effectively. 

As  the  young  child  is  incapable  of  penetrating  far  be- 
neath the  surface  of  things,  of  understanding  necessary 
connexions,  of  looking  far  afield,  either  into  the  future  or 
into  the  past,  of  comprehending  the  causes  from  which  a 
given  effect  has  arisen  or  the  effects  to  which  a  given  cause 
may  lead,  it  follows  that  his  feelings  are  direct,  sensuous, 
superficially  excited,  and  evanescent.  They  arise  and  sub- 
side with  the  sense  experiences  on  which  they  depend.  Of 
emotion,  in  the  deeper  and  more  abiding  sense,  he  is  not  yet 
capable. 

The  behavior  of  the  child  is  determined  chiefly  by  na- 
tive instincts,  unconscious  or  subconscious  response  to  sug- 
gestion, imitation,  and  organic  needs.  His  movements  are 
principally  of  the  instinctive  and  reflex  type.  He  is  ex- 
ceedingly open  to  the  suggestions  that  come  from  his  en- 
vironment. His  outgoing  processes  are  of  the  direct  and 
simple  sensori-motor  character.  Self-control,  inhibition, 
and  the  determination  of  action  by  ideas,  are  only  in  their 
nascent  stages.  As  the  ideas  lack  co-ordination,  so  the 
actions  lack  control  by  ideas.  And  back  of  both,  the  nerve 
processes  of  the  body  lack  systematic  connexion  with  one 
another.  Co-ordination  of  the  active  powers,  and  their 
concentration  upon  an  end  that  is  ideal,  or  in  any  degree  re- 
mote from  the  field  of  immediate  presentation,  must  not 
be  looked  for  at  this  age. 

With  the  transition  to  boyhood  and  girlhood  there  are 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  LIFE-STAGES       13 

some  rather  pronounced  developments,  notably  in  the  field 
of  volition.  Children  now  become  more  disposed  to 
undertake  things  for  themselves,  and  without  assistance 
from  others.  They  like  to  be  trusted.  Their  pride  is 
flattered  and  their  self-respect  enhanced  by  little  respon- 
sibilities. 

Physically,  the  process  of  growth  has  proceeded  rapidly 
up  to  this  age,  and  with  a  fair  degree  of  steadiness;  from 
this  point  on,  for  three  or  four  years,  growth  in  the  sense 
of  increase  of  bulk  is  not  so  rapid.  Consolidation  of  the 
physical  forces  and  powers  now  partly  takes  the  place  of 
quantitative  increase.  The  brain  of  an  eight-year-old  child 
is  nearly  as  large  as  it  will  ever  be,  but  in  the  matter  of 
development  of  the  inner  structure,  building  up  of  the  grey 
matter,  and  the  establishment  of  the  inter-cerebral  associa- 
tional  tracts,  much  yet  remains  to  be  done.  The  child  at 
this  age  is  usually  stronger,  tougher,  and  capable  of  greater 
endurance,  than  at  any  earlier  time  in  his  life,  and  perhaps 
than  at  any  later  time  previous  to  maturity.  The  muscles 
become  firmer,  the  joints  more  closely  set,  the  nerve  con- 
nexions better  established,  the  bones  harder  and  less  pliable, 
the  skin  more  capable  of  resisting  abrasion,  the  organs  of 
digestion,  circulation  and  respiration  more  completely  ad- 
justed to  their  work  and  better  fitted  to  handle  the  materials 
committed  to  them.  The  general  health  is  never  better 
than  now.  The  eyes  are  bright  and  clear,  and  all  the  senses 
wide  open  and  alert  for  the  apprehension  of  nature.  The 
sense  qualities  of  all  objects  in  the  material  environment 
are  of  absorbing  interest. 

Not  only  is  this  a  period  of  great  sense  activity,  but  also 
of  great  muscular  activity.  The  boy  and  girl  of  this  age 
are  continually  on  the  move.  Their  restless  activity,  their 
ceaseless  investigation  of  their  environment,  makes  them  per- 
haps a  little  more  difficult  to  manage  in  school  than  at  any 
other  age,  while  their  comparative  deficiency  in  the  more 
romantic  and  sentimental  phases  of  experience,  and  their 
carelessness  about  personal  appearance,  tends  to  make  them, 


14     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

in  the  eyes  of  many  teachers,  somewhat  less  attractive  than 
children  of  an  earlier  or  a  later  age. 

On  the  intellectual  side,  we  may  speak  of  this  as  the 
age  of  the  representative  faculties.  The  senses  have  been 
in  full  play  for  eight  or  nine  years,  and  are  well  along  in 
their  development.  The  material  presented  to  them  has 
become  to  some  extent  organized,  and  concepts  are  in  pro- 
cess of  formation,  as  the  things  perceived  by  the  senses  have 
become  associated,  grouped  and  arranged  in  apperception 
masses.  This  of  course  has  involved  the  retention  and  the 
recall  of  sense  experiences.  Hence  the  functions  of  memory 
and  imagination  come  into  more  active  operation.  The 
memory  attains  to  a  much  wider  capacity,  and  the  develop- 
ment of  the  mind  seems  to  have  reached  just  that  stage  in 
which  memory  drill  is  easier,  less  irksome,  and  more  pro- 
fitable, than  at  any  other  time,  though  there  is  no  time  in 
the  history  of  a  well-disciplined  mind  when  memory  work 
is  necessarily  either  irksome  or  profitless. 

The  imagination  is  at  this  age  moving  towards  the  con- 
structive form.  The  trains  of  imagery  are  now  more 
varied  and  comprehensive  in  their  scope,  as  well  as  more 
systematic  and  purposive  in  their  character.  But  on  the 
other  hand,  the  imagination  of  the  boy,  as  compared  with 
that  of  the  youth,  is  lacking  in  depth,  richness,  and 
emotional  color. 

In  boyhood  the  process  of  fixing  the  associational  fiber 
connexions  goes  forward  apace,  as  well  as  that  of  harden- 
ing and  toughening  the  muscles.  It  is,  therefore,  a  highly 
favorable  period  for  the  formation  of  habits,  and  for  all 
manner  of  useful  routine  discipline  leading  to  that  end, 
both  in  the  intellectual  sense,  and  in  the  volitional. 

From  the  standpoint  of  morals  and  religion,  as  well  as 
from  other  standpoints,  boyhood  may  seem  to  present  a 
less  attractive  field  than  either  childhood  on  the  one  hand 
or  adolescence  on  the  other.  The  naive  simplicity  and  re- 
ceptiveness  of  childhood  is  passing  away,  and  the  wistful, 
emotional,  aspirational  attitude  of  adolescence  has  not  yet 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  LIFE-STAGES        15 

come.  Hence  the  parent  and  the  teacher  are  very  likely 
to  find,  on  the  one  hand,  an  independence  and  a  wilfulness 
in  regard  to  the  content  of  instruction,  which  may  appear 
much  less  attractive  than  the  unquestioning  credulity  of 
childhood,  and  on  the  other  a  relative  lack  of  feeling,  as 
compared  with  adolescence,  which  may  be  disappointing  to 
those  who  do  not  understand  exactly  what  they  have  a  right 
to  expect.  It  is  not  in  boyhood  that  we  expect  to  find  the 
deepest  and  tenderest  feelings,  the  greatest  reverence,  the 
most  demonstrative  worship  of  the  sublime  and  the  beauti- 
ful, the  highest  conscientiousness,  the  greatest  sensitiveness 
to  the  claims  of  the  moral  law,  or  the  most  poignant  senti- 
ments of  remorse  over  personal  misdoings.  Indeed,  the 
impression  in  most  minds  is  that  the  child  from  eight  or  nine 
to  twelve  betrays  more  of  the  qualities  of  that  savagery 
from  which  our  race  is  slowly  emerging,  than  are  to  be  found 
elsewhere.  Consequently  there  are  many  who  regard  this 
as  the  least  attractive  period,  and  the  least  promising  from 
the  teacher's  point  of  view. 

Nothing  is  easier  however,  than  to  draw  erroneous  con- 
clusions at  this  point.  The  child  at  this  age  is  neither  de- 
void of  feeling,  incapable  of  appreciation,  irresponsive  to 
sympathy,  nor  impervious  to  moral  and  religious  instruction. 
He  is  capable  of  reverence,  aesthetic  taste,  and  moral  sensi- 
tiveness. It  is  a  matter  of  degree.  He  is  stronger  than  he 
was  in  childhood,  and  loves  to  assert  his  strength  and  show 
his  independence;  and  so,  on  the  surface,  he  appears  less 
reverential  towards  authority.  Sometimes,  in  the  exercise 
of  this  strength  and  energy  of  his,  smaller  children  or  pet 
animals  may  be  hurt;  and  so  we  think  him  callous  and  un- 
feeling. Again,  there  are  certain  strata  of  emotional  experi- 
ence which  are  not  yet  possible  for  him,  and  we  hastily  con- 
clude that  the  soil  of  his  boyish  character  is  scarcely  worth 
the  trouble  of  cultivation.  But  in  so  doing  we  make  a 
great  mistake.  Every  period  of  life  has  its  own  value,  not 
only  in  relation  to  the  whole  life,  but  in  and  for  itself  as 
well.  The  essential  traits  of  boyhood  and  girlhood  de- 


1 6     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

serve  the  most  careful  study,  and  are  worthy  of  the  highest 
appreciation.  The  mind  is  now  splendidly  adapted  to  re- 
spond to  the  demand  for  work  that  is  calculated  to  fortify 
and  furnish  it  for  the  whole  task  and  problem  of  efficient 
living.  The  seeds  of  true  moral  appreciation,  and  of  re- 
ligious devotion,  may  not  only  be  sown  now,  but  may  make 
a  gratifying  degree  of  growth.  The  ideas  gained  in  child- 
hood may  be  made  a  permanent  possession  of  the  mind;  and 
the  unreasoned  responses  of  childhood  to  the  suggestions 
and  requirements  of  the  teacher  may  be  developed  into  the 
settled,  habitual  forms  of  conduct  that  shall  give  its  domi- 
nant tone  to  the  entire  life. 

Puberty  means  the  dawning  of  the  sex  life,  and  the  be- 
ginning of  the  unfolding  of  the  procreative  capacities;  and 
adolescence  means  that  period  of  life  which  extends  from 
puberty  to  full  physical  maturity.  This  period  does  not 
begin  at  the  same  age  precisely  in  all  individuals.  Its  ad- 
vent varies  according  to  many  circumstances.  It  varies  ac- 
cording to  race  and  ethnic  stock,  coming  somewhat  earlier 
among  peoples  of  the  Semitic  than  among  those  of  the  Indo- 
European  races.  Again,  among  the  latter,  it  is  earlier  with 
the  Latin  than  with  the  Teutonic  peoples.  It  varies  accord- 
ing to  climate,  being  earlier  in  tropical  countries  than  in  the 
temperate  and  frigid  zones.  It  varies  according  to  in- 
herited disposition,  being  a  little  earlier  in  persons  of  warm 
and  sanguine  temperament,  and  more  tardy  with  the  phleg- 
matic. It  varies  according  to  habits  of  life,  being  somewhat 
earlier  among  those  whose  lives  are  pampered  by  luxury 
and  who  are  prematurely  familiarized  with  adult  modes 
of  thought  and  feeling,  while  it  is  more  tardy  among  those 
who  from  childhood  are  accustomed  to  plain  living  and 
ardent  toil.  Many  diseases  have  a  retarding  effect  upon  it, 
as  well  as  hardships,  privation,  mental  anxiety,  care  and 
responsibility.  It  varies  according  to  sex,  making  its  ap- 
pearance a  little  earlier  in  the  female  than  in  the  male.  In 
rare  cases  it  has  been  known  to  occur  several  years  earlier 
than  the  average,  or  several  years  later.  But  its  occurrence 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  LIFE-STAGES       17 

before  the  eleventh  year,  or  later  than  the  fifteenth,  may  be 
regarded  as  quite  exceptional.  On  the  North  American 
Continent  it  occurs  apparently  in  the  vast  majority  of  cases 
between  twelve  and  fourteen  in  girls,  and  between  thirteen 
and  fifteen  in  boys. 

The  importance  of  this  change  called  puberty,  which 
ushers  in  the  period  of  adolescence,  has  been  recognized  in 
all  ages  and  among  all  peoples,  and  many  are  the  strange 
and  curious  customs  by  which  it  has  been  celebrated,  es- 
pecially among  savage  and  semi-civilized  races.1  A  study 
of  these  customs  will  show  how  solemn  a  transition  it  was 
held  to  be.  Among  civilized  peoples  it  is  marked  as  a  rule 
by  some  alterations  in  the  style  of  clothing  and  in  the  manner 
of  wearing  the  hair  (though  probably  not  with  any  thought 
of  making  public  announcement  of  the  facts)  and  frequently 
by  some  new  emphasis  on  the  social  and  religious  obligations 
of  the  individual,  evidently  with  a  half-conscious  recognition 
of  the  close  association  between  the  racial  and  the  religious 
life.  In  many  Christian  communions  there  seems  to  be  a 
tacit  expectation  that  young  people  shall  take  some  new  and 
distinct  forward  step  in  the  religious  life,  assume  some  addi- 
tional religious  responsibility,  or  enter  into  a  more  intimate 
and  avowed  connexion  with  the  church,  somewhere  about  the 
early  or  middle  teens.  And  even  among  those  churches 
which  do  not  regard  this  as  a  matter  of  course,  there  is 
nevertheless  a  growing  recognition  of  the  fact  that  a  deeper 
and  more  vital  interest  in  matters  religious  may  normally 
be  looked  for  about  this  time. 

Physically,  the  advent  of  puberty  is  announced  in  various 
ways.  Immediately  preceding  it  there  is  a  marked  accelera- 
tion in  the  rate  of  growth  in  general,  and  in  the  development 
of  the  sexual  system  in  particular.  Functions  and  processes 
essential  to  procreation  begin  to  show  themselves  in  their 
initial  stages,  while  other  changes  take  place,  whose  connex- 

1  It  is  significant  that  the  majority  of  these  customs,  as  applied  to  boys, 
are  of  such  a  kind  as  to  test  their  powers  of  endurance,  courage,  and, 
in  general,  their  fitness  for  life  as  efficient  members  of  the  tribe  or  social 
order. 


1 8     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

ion  with  the  procreative  powers  is  only  indirect.  There 
are  changes  in  the  voice,  and  the  beginning  of  a  general  de- 
velopment of  the  whole  body  towards  shapeliness  and  poise 
and  power. 

In  the  sphere  of  thought  and  feeling,  if  any  single  word 
could  express  all  that  is  characteristic  of  this  period,  it  would 
be  some  such  word  as  "  deepening."  The  mind,  in  adoles- 
cence, begins  to  go  fuTEher  below  the  surface  of  things. 
Childhood  is  kept  busy  with  the  operations  of  the  senses. 
In  boyhood  the  powers  of  representation  develop  rapidly, 
but  chiefly  in  connexion  with  the  handling  of  sense  material. 
But  now,  in  adolescence,  the  mind  grasps  deeper  meanings, 
sees  more  in  the  things  that  are  presented  to  its  view,  begins 
to  make  profounder  interpretations  of  its  experience,  and  to 
harness  the  products  of  sense-perception  to  the  categories 
of  the  higher  thinking.  The  child's  mind  is  for  the  most 
part  limited  to  that  which  is  presented;  the  mind  of  the 
adolescent  reaches  out  to  that  which  is  implicated  or  in- 
volved in  the  presentation.  In  a  deeper  sense  than  ever 
before,  the  mind  now  takes  hold  upon  the  ideal,  builds 
castles,  lays  plans,  and  indulges  in  day  dreams,  with  all 
kindred  psychic  adventures.  Feeling  is  greatly  enrich_ed, 
and  many  types  of  feeling  impossible  to  the  child  now  be- 
come actual.  Feeling  and  thought  are  brought  into  closer 
relation,  and  hence  the  emotions,  in  the  deeper  sense  of  the 
term,  are  born.  The  unity  of  intellect,  feeling,  and  will  is 
consciously  realized.  Action  is  less  merely  imitative,  habit- 
ual, and  automatic,  and  becomes  more  genuinely  volitional; 
but  because  it  is  only  "  becoming "  so,  and  has  not  yet 
completely  "  become  "  so,  the  control  of  conduct  by  intelli- 
gence is  not  yet  constant  and  reliable,  but  spasmodic  and 
intermittent.  Hence  adolescence,  though  psychologically 
much  in  advance  of  boyhood,  seems  sometimes  behind  it 
in  these  respects.  It  is  a  period  of  contradictions,  opposite 
moods  and  tempers  succeeding  one  another  with  great 
rapidity. 

From  the  very  nature  of  the  changes  that  are  now  taking 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  LIFE-STAGES       19 

place,  self-consciousness  and  the  social  consciousness  come 
at  the  same  time  into  prominence.  Interest  in  one's  own 
personality,  and  interest  in  the  personality  of  others,  are 
two  sides  of  a  single  movement  and  develop  together.  In 
this  there  is  also  involved,  as  a  rule,  a  profounder  under- 
standing of  moral  and  religious  questions.  New  desires 
awake,  with  passions  and  emotions  that  have  their  center  of 
interest  and  their  focus  in  the  larger  self,  the  self  whose 
function  in  relation  to  the  race,  and  consequently  to  all  that 
is  involved  in  the  life  of  the  race,  is  now  beginning  to  be 
vaguely  comprehended.  All  these  characteristics  are,  of 
course,  only  touched  upon  here  in  a  very  general  and  pre- 
liminary way.  They  are  to  form  the  subject  of  more  care- 
ful and  detailed  study  in  later  chapters.  For  this  reason 
we  may  postpone  any  discussion  of  the  subdivisions  of  the 
adolescent  period,  except  this  general  remark  that  during 
the  earlier  years  of  the  period  the  development  of  feeling 
is  relatively  very  pronounced;  while  in  the  later  years  the 
rational  powers  gradually  overtake  the  emotional,  and  es- 
tablish that  balance  and  control  which  is  the  mark  of  matur- 
ity. 

Manhood,  or  maturity,  means  the  full  ripening  of  all  the 
powers.  This  term,  like  most  others,  must  be  applied  in  a 
somewhat  loose  and  vague  manner,  in  so  far  as  the  fixing 
of  dates  is  concerned,  for  the  mental  powers  may  go  on 
developing  for  many  years  after  the  body  has  reached  the 
highest  point  of  its  growth.  But  in  this  loose  vague  sense, 
and  having  in  mind  more  especially  the  physical  powers  and 
functions,  maturity  is  reached  about  the  24th  or  25th  year 
in  males,  and  some  two  or  three  years  earlier  in  females. 
After  this  there  is  no  further  growth,  if  growth  means  the 
addition  of  anything  essential  to  the  complete  individual. 
There  may  be  further  increase,  or  there  may  be  decrease  in 
weight,  after  this  time;  there  may  be  many  alterations  in 
the  proportion  of  parts,  but  everything  that  is  required  to 
make  the  body  the  competent  servant  of  the  will,  has  now 
been  attained.  There  may  however  be  much  further  pro- 


20     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

gress  in  the  way  of  skill,  power,  and  control  of  the  parts 
and  organs.  The  mind,  likewise,  has  now  all  the  kinds  of 
power  it  is  to  have,  but  it  may  go  on,  developing  these  kinds 
of  power,  directing  them  into  new  channels,  and  applying 
them  in  new  ways,  into  middle  life,  and  even  into  old  age, 
under  favorable  conditions.  The  leading  characteristic 
here  is  the  consolidation  and  use  of  power,  with  approximate 
fixity  and  finality  in  habits,  opinions,  tastes,  preferences,  and 
ways  of  looking  at  things.  The  capacity  for  steady  and 
prolonged  effort,  for  unremitting  pursuit  of  one  object  and 
purpose,  under  the  guidance  of  ideas  that  have  become  a 
secure  possession,  should  now  be  fully  achieved. 

All  this  may  mean,  and  in  too  many  cases  does  mean, 
that  the  capacity  for  new  adaptations,  adjustments,  and 
achievements,  is  passing  away.  Radical  changes  in  any  im- 
portant respect  are  becoming  rare.  A  certain  loss  of  elas- 
ticity and  adaptability  is  the  price  which  one  has  to  pay  for 
the  attainment  of  full  and  settled  control  of  all  powers. 
Specialization,  moreover,  while  intensifying  the  focus  of 
efficiency,  limits  its  range.  The  bones,  muscles,  and  liga- 
ments of  the  body  are  harder  and  less  pliable;  and  the  ideas 
and  judgments  of  the  mind  tend  to  assume  their  final  form. 
The  eager  interest  of  youth  in  that  which  is  new  shows  signs 
of  falling  off.  Conservatism  in  thought,  feeling,  opinion, 
and  action,  begins  to  show  itself,  habits  become  fixed,  and 
memory  less  resourceful,  especially  towards  the  close  of  the 
period.  Yet  throughout  this  entire  middle  third  of  the  life- 
span  there  should  be  no  impairment  of  the  powers,  and  no 
serious  impairment  for  many  years  beyond  its  close.  What 
is  lost  in  plasticity  and  adaptability  should  be  gained  in 
accuracy  and  reliability.  Any  decrease  in  the  ability  to 
learn  and  remember  should  be  more  than  balanced  by  the 
increased  ability  to  judge,  to  reason,  and  to  distinguish  be- 
tween what  is  worth  while,  and  what  is  not  worth  while,  in 
the  light  of  logical  and  ethical  criteria.  If  there  is  some 
loss  of  adaptability  to  new  conditions,  it  should  simply  mean 
that  range  is  sacrificed  to  effectiveness,  that  the  individual 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  LIFE-STAGES       n 

has  given  up  the  thought  of  doing  everything,  in  order 
that  he  may  do  some  things  well.  He  has  ascertained  the 
field  in  which  his  powers  may  be  best  employed  and  has 
decided  to  confine  his  attention  to  that  field.  This  is  in 
most  cases  a  necessity,  since  he  is  now  confronted  with  the 
practical  problems  connected  with  a  life  calling  and  a  liveli- 
hood. The  consciousness  of  responsibility  in  these  direc- 
tions, which  did  not  press  heavily  on  the  adolescent  and  not 
at  all  on  the  child,  leads  to  shortening  of  the  line,  and  con- 
centration of  the  forces. 

Senescence  begins  at  that  point  where  gain  is  replaced  by 
loss,  not  in  this  or  that  particular,  but  on  the  whole;  where 
physical  strength  and  mental  vigor  (aside,  of  course,  from 
disease  and  accident,  to  which  every  age  is  liable)  begin  to 
suffer  permanent  diminution,  in  however  slight  a  degree. 
As  soon  as  the  forces  that  make  for  disintegration  and  dis- 
solution succeed  in  establishing  a  settled  superiority  over 
the  forces  that  make  for  integration  and  upbuilding,  then, 
however  loth  we  may  be  to  admit  it,  we  have  passed  the 
crest,  and  the  tide  of  life  is  already  on  the  ebb.  The  symp- 
toms are  physical  and  mental.  The  appetite  is  less  keen, 
and  the  desire  for  physical  exercise  less  pronounced.  The 
senses  must  be  reinforced  with  artificial  contrivances,  mem- 
ory lapses  must  be  guarded  against  by  written  memoranda, 
and  one  is  compelled  to  look  more  and  more  to  others  for 
assistance  in  all  those  things  that  require  much  strength,  skill, 
or  speed  for  their  accomplishment. 

The  mind  becomes  wedded  to  tradition,  and  looks  back 
to  the  golden  age.  It  shows  less  and  less  disposition  to 
entertain  ideas  that  are  new  and  strange.  Sometimes  old 
age  is  crabbed  and  gloomy,  but  this  depends  largely  on  the 
physical  condition,  and  on  the  manner  in  which  the  earlier 
stages  of  the  life  have  been  spent.  If  they  have  been  normal 
and  healthful,  in  the  spiritual  as  well  as  in  the  physical  sense, 
then  these  closing  years  should  be  free  from  what  the  Stoics 
called  perturbationes  animi,  free,  that  is  to  say,  from  all 
inner  disquietude;  and  the  pilgrim,  as  he  approaches  that 


22     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

bourne  from  which  there  is  no  return,  should  be  able  to 
look  forward  into  the  future  without  fear  and  backward 
into  the  past  without  reproach. 

NOTE.  This  is  perhaps  the  most  convenient  place  for  a 
brief  reference  to  the  theory  of  Recapitulation,  with  its 
educational  application  in  the  Herbartian  doctrine  of  Cul- 
ture Epochs.  I  do  not  consider  it  advisable  to  burden  the 
pages  of  a  Teachers'  Handbook  with  extended  discussion 
of  a  doctrine  which,  on  its  theoretical  side,  is  open  to  many 
criticisms,  and  has  not  yet  been  established,  except  in  the 
most  general  way;  and  whose  application  in  educational 
practice  gives  us  no  results  that  could  not  be  attained  with 
more  certainty  by  a  less  circuitous  route. 

The  theory  is  that  each  individual,  in  his  development, 
must  traverse  the  same  course,  step  by  step,  as  the  race  has 
followed  in  its  development;  that  if  you  could  hold  up  be- 
fore you  the  history  of  the  individual  and  the  history  of  the 
race,  side  by  side,  you  would  see  in  the  former  an  epitome  of 
the  latter;  or,  in  more  technical  language,  that  ontogenesis 
and  phylogenesis  constitute  parallel  or  coincident  series. 
Pedagogically  it  would  follow,  that  since  the  mind  of  the 
child  unfolds  in  the  same  order  as  the  mind  of  the  race,  his 
education  must  proceed  in  the  same  order  as  the  education  of 
the  race;  and  that  the  construction  of  educational  curricula 
should  be  based  upon  a  study  of  the  history  of  human  cul- 
ture. 

In  so  far  as  the  doctrine  calls  attention  to  the  fact  that 
there  is  a  natural  and  normal  order  in  individual  develop- 
ment, and  that,  in  the  child's  education  that  order  should 
be  followed,  no  exception  need  be  taken,  provided  we  are 
agreed  as  to  the  full  and  precise  meaning  of  the  word 
"  natural."  But  we  hardly  needed  a  subtle  doctrine  of  onto- 
genetico-phylogenetic  parallelism  to  convince  us  that  nature 
can  best  be  commanded  by  first  being  obeyed.  The  real 
question  before  the  teacher  is  this:  What,  exactly,  is  that 
natural  order  of  development?  And  that  question  can  be 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  LIFE-STAGES       23 

answered  far  more  readily  and  far  more  surely  by  the  study 
of  the  child  himself  than  by  speculations  regarding  his  his- 
toric and  pre-historic  forbears.  There  is  no  intention,  in 
all  this,  to  disparage  these  phylogenetic  speculations,  which, 
like  all  other  efforts  to  increase  the  range  of  human  knowl- 
edge, are  wholly  commendable.  The  purpose  is  merely  to 
intimate  that  for  busy  teachers  there  is  another  field  whose 
cultivation,  for  the  present  at  least,  is  likely  to  yield  quicker 
and  more  valuable  returns. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   BODY 

Man's  body  is  intended  to  be  the  instrument  of  his  mind, 
the  trained  servant  of  his  will.  In  the  conformation  of  its 
parts,  in  the  relation  of  those  parts  to  one  another,  in  the 
structure  of  bone  and  muscle,  of  nerve  and  tendon,  of  joint 
and  ligament,  this  purpose  is  manifest.  The  complicated 
mechanism  of  sense,  with  its  peripheral  end-organs,  so  sensi- 
tive to  the  impressions  that  come  from  without,  and  its  af- 
ferent nerve-fibers  conducting  those  impressions  to  the  brain, 
is  obviously  fitted  to  inform  the  mind,  and  furnish  to  it  the 
materials  for  ideas  and  judgments  about  external  things. 
And  the  equally  complicated  mechanism  of  movement,  con- 
sisting of  motor  centers,  efferent  nerves,  muscles  and  mov- 
able members,  adapted  for  locomotion,  compression,  pre- 
hension and  all  the  other  forms  of  physical  action,  is  just 
as  obviously  fitted  to  be  the  medium  for  the  expression  of 
all  that  is  in  the  soul.  Every  shade  of  feeling  and  every 
variety  of  thought,  all  manner  of  moods  and  fancies,  de- 
sires and  aversions,  loves  and  hates,  purposes  and  ambi- 
tions, seek  their  outlet,  and  find  their  realization,  through 
the  mechanism  of  physical  expression.  Through  speech, 
through  writing,  in  prose  and  poetry,  through  art  and 
music,  through  gesture,  facial  expression  and  vocal  inflex- 
ion, as  well  as  through  the  countless  other  modes  of  move- 
ment possible  to  man,  that  which  is  within  becomes  expressed 
and  communicated  without. 

If  the  body  is  strong,  well  nourished  by  proper  food,  air 
and  sleep,  and  well  trained  and  hardened  by  proper  work 
and  exercise,  then  the  mind  has  unhindered  opportunity  for 
its  own  free  expression  and  full  self-realization.  If  the 

24 


THE  BODY  25 

body  is  weak,  badly  nourished,  untrained  or  diseased,  the 
free  activities  of  the  spirit  are  by  so  much  handicapped  or 
rendered  abortive.  If  the  natural  growth  of  the  body  is 
prevented  by  irrational  modes  in  dress  or  regimen,  if  the 
muscles  of  the  leg  are  not  permitted  their  full  movement, 
if  the  diaphragmatic  and  abdominal  muscles  are  relieved 
of  their  functions  in  whole  or  in  part,  if  digestion,  circula- 
tion, or  respiration,  is  impeded,  either  by  diseased  condi- 
tions, or  by  unwise  modes  of  living,  the  whole  mental  life 
is  thereby  robbed  of  its  birthright  of  free  and  full  unfolding. 
If  any  of  the  sense  organs  are  deranged  or  diseased,  our 
perceptions  are  falsified,  and  things  appear  in  their  wrong 
colors,  tastes,  forms,  sizes,  and  distances.  Bodily  dis- 
orders immediately  and  profoundly  affect  the  mental  life. 
Liver  complaint  and  melancholia  are  in  the  relation  of  cause 
and  effect.  Indigestion,  mal-nutrition,  anaemia,  and  other 
disorders,  act  as  a  clog  on  the  wheels  of  thought,  clip  the 
wings  of  fancy,  becloud  the  mental  vision,  lower  the  spirit- 
ual tone,  blunt  the  edge  of  conscience,  make  us  irritable  with 
our  children,  distrustful  of  our  friends,  bitter  towards  our 
enemies,  discontented  with  our  lot,  and  pessimistic  about  our 
future.  Defective  brain  growth  means  idiocy  or  imbecility 
in  some  of  their  many  degrees,  and  transfers  the  individual 
from  the  class  of  those  who  can  take  care  of  themselves 
and  others,  to  the  class  of  those  who  have  to  be  taken  care 
of  by  others. 

In  morals  and  religion,  no  less  than  elsewhere,  do  the 
body  and  the  mind  stand  in  this  intimate  relation.  Charac- 
ter betrays  itself  in  physical  bearing,  and  physical  bearing, 
when  it  has  become  habitual,  reacts  upon  character.  Atti- 
tudes suggest  ideas,  and  ideas  find  vent  in  attitudes.  The 
highest  and  holiest  aspirations  find  their  avenues  of  achieve- 
ment through  the  bodily  organs,  and  the  passions  that  are 
low  and  unworthy  obtain  their  means  of  gratification  also 
by  way  of  the  physical  organism.  In  every  age  and  country 
certain  postures,  tones  of  voice,  and  facial  expressions,  have 
been  considered  appropriate  for  the  expression  of  certain 


26     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

religious  feelings  and  conceptions;  and  these  postures,  tones 
and  expressions  in  turn  suggest  and  favor  the  rise  of  the 
feelings  and  conceptions  referred  to.  The  body  may  be 
the  instrument  and  medium  of  all  that  is  highest  and  best, 
or  of  all  that  is  lowest  and  worst,  in  conception  and  in  con- 
duct. It  may  be  a  pest-house  of  iniquity,  or  a  temple  of  the 
Holy  Ghost. 

Nowhere  in  the  animal  creation  do  we  find  so  complex  a 
physical  structure,  or  so  wide  a  differentiation  of  functions, 
as  in  the  body  of  man.  Nowhere  else  do  we  find  so  delicate 
and  highly  developed  a  nervous  system,  and  nowhere  else 
so  large  a  brain,  in  proportion  to  the  whole  body;  nor,  in 
the  brain,  so  large  a  proportionate  development  of  the 
frontal  lobes.  Man's  body  seems  intended  to  serve  as  the 
instrument  of  mastery  and  dominion. 

From  birth  to  maturity  the  dominant  feature  of  the  or- 
ganism is  growth;  but  this  term  means  more  than  mere 
increase  in  bulk.  It  means  also  development  in  structure; 
alteration  in  the  proportion  of  parts,  giving  new  contours 
and  outlines;  and  changes  in  the  closeness  of  the  connex- 
ions of  the  parts. 

The  rate  of  growth  in  both  senses  of  the  term  varies 
greatly,  not  only  as  between  different  organs  but  also  in  the 
same  organ  at  different  times.  Both  the  organism  as  a 
whole,  and  the  individual  parts  and  members,  show  many 
retardations  and  accelerations  of  growth.  Some  parts,  such 
as  the  brain,  have  reached  almost  their  full  size  and  weight 
before  puberty;  while  others,  such  as  the  heart  and  lungs, 
continue  to  grow  to  a  much  later  period.  The  main,  or 
trunk  system  appears  earlier  in  the  foetus  than  the  limbs, 
and  is  in  advance  of  them  in  the  infant;  but  the  limbs  de- 
velop rapidly  throughout  childhood  and  into  the  early  years 
of  adolescence,  and,  for  a  time,  more  than  restore  the  bal- 
ance. There  are  periods  of  rest,  or  of  consolidation  of 
the  gains  so  far  made,  alternating  with  periods  of  rapid 
advance.  One  of  these  periods  of  slow  growth  takes  place 
usually  a  little  before  puberty,  or  from  the  eighth  or  ninth 


THE  BODY  27 

to  the  tenth  or  eleventh  year.  Then  follows  a  period  of 
marked  acceleration  in  growth,  beginning  about  the  tenth 
or  eleventh  year,  a  little  earlier  in  girls  than  in  boys,  and 
continuing  until  the  fifteenth  or  sixteenth  year,  the  rate  of 
growth  reaching  its  highest  point  about  the  fourteenth  year 
for  boys  and  the  thirteenth  for  girls.1  From  these  points 
on,  the  rate  of  growth  falls  off  somewhat  regularly  in  both 
sexes.  Girls,  as  a  rule,  have  nearly  attained  to  their  full 
size  by  the  eighteenth  or  nineteenth  year,  but  boys  continue 
to  grow,  though  at  a  greatly  diminished  rate,  for  two  or 
three  years  longer.  The  eighteenth  year  is  regarded  by 
many  as  a  time  of  great  retardation,  while  the  parts  of  the 
body  are  knitting  themselves  together  in  preparation  for 
the  exacting  functions  of  mature  life. 

The  weight  of  the  human  body  is  about  twenty  times  as 
great  at  maturity  as  at  birth.  A  male  weighing  eight  pounds 
at  birth  and  160  pounds  at  maturity  might  be  regarded  as 
a  fairly  representative  case.  This  increase  is  spread  over 
some  twenty  years  or  more,  and  takes  place,  as  we  have 
said,  not  uniformly,  but  with  accelerations  and  retardations, 
and  indeed,  with  occasional  retrogression.  There  is  often 
an  actual  loss  of  weight  for  a  short  period  soon  after  birth, 
followed,  in  healthy  children,  by  a  very  rapid  gain  up  to 
the  seventh  or  eighth  year,  diminishing,  however,  in  rate, 
and  with  retardations  here  and  there,  as  in  the  period  of 
teething,  or  in  the  hot  season  of  the  year,  or  on  occasion  of 
some  of  the  ailments  to  which  children  are  subject.  Then 
for  a  couple  of  years  a  noticeable  falling  off  in  the  rate  of 
gain,  followed  by  a  rapid  advance  through  the  earlier  ado- 
lescent period  and  a  less  rapid  advance  during  the  later  pe- 
riod. The  rate  of  increase  in  the  weight  of  boys  culminates 
at  about  sixteen,  that  of  girls  two  or  three  years  earlier. 
As  the  period  of  accelerating  increase  begins  earlier  in  the 
female  than  in  the  male,  it  follows  that  girls  are  for  a  time 

1  According  to  King  (The  High  School  Age,  Indianapolis,  1914,  Ch.  n) 
the  annual  increase  may  rise  in  two  or  three  years  about  the  beginning  of 
the  teens,  from  less  than  three,  to  five  or  six  per  cent 


28     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

heavier  than  boys  of  the  same  age.  This  is  due  to  the 
earlier  advent  of  puberty  in  the  female.  Girls,  on  an  aver- 
age, are  heavier  than  boys  for  about  two  years,  that  is,  from 
thirteen  to  fifteen,  but  boys  are  heavier  at  all  other  times. 
By  the  end  of  the  period  of  the  teens  both  boys  and  girls 
have  nearly  reached  normal  adult  weight. 

Height.  Taking  the  average  of  a  very  large  number 
of  observations  and  measurements,  I  find  that  boys  at  twelve 
are  usually  about  55  inches  in  height;  at  thirteen  they  are 
about  57  inches;  at  fourteen  they  are  almost  60  inches,  or 
five  feet  in  height;  at  fifteen  they  are  between  62  and  63 
inches;  and  at  sixteen  they  are  nearly  65  inches  high.  After 
sixteen  they  grow  more  slowly,  until  growth  in  height  ceases 
altogether  somewhere  between  the  twentieth  and  the 
twenty-third  year.  Their  most  rapid  growth  in  height  takes 
place  during  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  years,  when  the 
annual  increment  may  be  as  much  as  five  or  six  per  cent  of 
the  total  height.  The  average  height  of  girls,  arrived  at 
in  the  same  way,  is  about  as  follows:  At  twelve  they  are 
slightly  taller  than  boys ;  at  thirteen  they  lead  by  nearly  an 
inch;  at  fourteen  their  lead  is  reduced,  and  at  fifteen  it  dis- 
appears. At  sixteen  the  average  boy  is  more  than  two 
inches  taller  than  the  average  girl  of  the  same  age.  The 
rate  of  increase  in  height  is  very  much  diminished  in  girls 
after  sixteen,  and  their  full  adult  stature  is  reached  about 
the  nineteenth  or  twentieth  year.  For  nearly  three  years, 
then,  girls  are  actually  taller  than  boys  of  the  same  age. 

But,  as  in  the  case  of  weight,  account  must  be  taken,  not 
merely  of  the  total  height  of  the  body,  but  also  of  the  length 
of  the  various  parts  that  contribute  to  that  total.  These 
parts  do  not  all  grow  at  the  same  rate.  In  the  new-born 
child,  the  length  of  the  head  is  much  greater,  in  proportion 
to  the  total  length,  than  at  any  subsequent  time.  The  same 
may  be  said  of  the  trunk,  in  comparison  with  the  legs  and 
arms.  Throughout  the  entire  period  of  childhood  limb- 
growth  is  more  rapid  than  trunk-growth,  but  in  the  early 
teens  the  growth  of  the  trunk  is  much  accelerated,  especially 


THE  BODY  29 

in  the  case  of  girls,  whose  lower  limbs  cover  a  smaller  per- 
centage of  their  total  height  than  those  of  boys  at  all  times 
after  the  loth  year.  The  time  of  most  rapid  growth  of 
the  trunk,  as  compared  with  the  limbs,  is,  for  girls,  about 
the  1 3th  year,  and,  for  boys,  about  two  years  later. 

The  asymmetrical  character  of  growth,  to  which  refer- 
ance  has  been  made,  is  especially  noticeable  in  the  period 
of  adolescence,  where  it  is  so  pronounced  as  to  involve  a 
temporary  upheaval  and  loss  of  complete  co-ordination  and 
control.  Adolescence  is  a  period  of  reconstruction,  in  which 
many  connexions  and  established  associations  become  loos- 
ened up,  in  preparation  for  the  connexions  and  associations 
that  are  to  be  permanent. 

The  brain  increases  rapidly  in  size  and  weight  during  the 
period  of  childhood,  but  in  the  matter  of  structural  and 
functional  development,  the  organization  of  its  convolutions, 
and  the  linking  up  of  its  associative  neurones,  it  is  still  very 
immature  at  the  end  of  the  period.  In  all  these  respects 
its  development  proceeds  rapidly  during  adolescence,  and 
is  approximately  complete  in  the  early  twenties,  in  the  sense 
of  being  fairly  well  equipped  for  all  the  kinds  of  work  which 
it  will  be  required  to  do;  though  it  would  hardly  be  safe  to 
venture  any  statement  as  to  the  time  beyond  which  no  further 
development  takes  place.  This  no  doubt  varies  consider- 
ably from  one  person  to  another,  and  is  more  or  less  de- 
pendent upon  a  number  of  conditions,  such  as  nurture  and 
use,  whose  total  effects  are  scarcely  open  to  exact  calcula- 
tion. 

The  circulatory  system  shares  in  the  acceleration  of 
growth-rate  during  adolescence,  but  the  parts  of  the  sys- 
tem do  not  all  develop  at  the  same  rate.  The  heart  itself 
grows  more  rapidly  than  the  arteries  during  the  early  years 
of  the  period,  and  its  actual  size  is  nearly  doubled  during 
the  adolescent  years;  while  at  about  the  sixteenth  year  its 
weight  bears  a  larger  proportion  to  the  weight  of  the  whole 
body  than  at  any  other  time.  The  quality  of  the  blood  is 
believed  to  be  affected  moreover  by  secretions,  partly  from 


30     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

certain  sexual  glands,  and  partly  from  the  thyroid  and 
other  ductless  glands,  which  exercise  in  this  way  an  impor- 
tant influence  on  all  the  vital  activities. 

The  lungs  and  larynx  increase  in  size,  capacity,  and 
power,  especially  in  boys.  The  rate  of  breathing  becomes 
slower,  but  the  volume  of  air  inhaled  and  exhaled  is  much 
increased.  Chest  expansion  is  noticeably  augmented,  and 
healthy  youths  delight  in  games  and  sports  that  tend  to 
develop  as  well  as  to  test  the  power  of  the  lungs. 

The  nerves  become  connected  into  a  system  in  a  more 
complicated  way,  and  the  process  of  medullation,  which  is 
probably  essential  to  the  highest  conductivity,  goes  forward 
towards  completion. 

The  muscles,  whose  growth  from  birth  to  maturity  is 
much  greater  in  proportion  than  any  other  part  of  the  body, 
make  particularly  rapid  increase  during  adolescence,  not 
only  in  size  and  weight,  but  in  solidity  and  power.  The 
gripping  strength  of  the  hands  doubles,  in  both  sexes,  be- 
tween t^ie  ages  of  eleven  and  sixteen.1  The  increase  in  the 
size  and  weight  of  the  muscles  accounts  for  a  large  part 
of  the  total  increase  in  the  size  and  weight  of  the  body 
during  these  years  of  rapid  growth.  Development  of  mus- 
cular control  takes  place  first  in  the  larger  and  more  funda- 
mental muscles,  and  later  in  those  of  finer  function.  This 
is  a  repetition  of  the  order  in  which  the  muscles  come  under 
control  in  childhood.  The  infant  learns  to  move  the  trunk, 
the  head,  and  the  limbs  as  a  whole,  earlier  than  the  fingers 
and  toes.  So  the  increase  in  control  and  skill  that  comes 
in  adolescence  begins  with  the  larger  muscles  and  proceeds 
to  the  smaller.  In  the  earlier  years  of  adolescence,  indeed, 
there  may  be  some  actual  falling  off  in  the  power  of  control 
ever  the  finer  muscles,  the  more  fundamental  developing 
for  a  time  at  their  expense. 

The  skeleton,  which  at  maturity  is  some  twenty-six  times 
as  large  as  it  is  at  birth,  makes  a  great  advance  about  the 

1  Sandiford,  The  Mental  and  Physical  Life  of  School  Children,  New  York, 
19.5,  Ch.  XVII. 


THE  BODY  31 

time  of  puberty,  both  in  the  length  and  size  of  the  bones, 
and  also  in  their  firmness  and  strength.  We  have  already 
seen  what  large  additions  are  made  at  this  time  to  the 
total  height  of  the  body.  The  bones  increase  also  in  thick- 
ness through  the  addition  of  new  layers  under  the  perios- 
teum, and  in  the  firmness  of  their  connexion  with  one 
another  at  the  joints,  by  means  of  the  consolidation  of  the 
connective  ligaments.  The  chest  extends  greatly  from  the 
advent  of  puberty  up  to  about  the  fifteenth  year,  and  con- 
tinues to  do  so,  though  less  rapidly,  for  some  four  years 
longer.  The  most  striking  change  in  the  shape  of  the  chest, 
from  infancy  to  maturity,  other  than  the  increase  in  size, 
is  its  broadening,  or  lateral  development,  which  is  much 
more  pronounced  than  its  increase  in  depth,  from  front  to 
back.  In  proportion  to  its  girth  the  thorax  is  deeper  from 
front  to  back  in  infancy  than  at  any  subsequent  time. 

One  of  the  most  important  phases  of  adolescent  develop- 
ment is  that  which  takes  place  in  all  the  organs  that  are 
concerned,  either  primarily  or  secondarily,  with  the  func- 
tions of  procreation.  Throughout  the  whole  previous  pe- 
riod the  sexual  system  has  lain  dormant,  and,  indeed,  in- 
complete, awaiting  the  time,  as  it  were,  when  the  body  as  a 
whole  should  have  reached  that  degree  of  solidity  and 
strength  that  would  enable  it  to  bear  the  test,  and  meet 
the  demands,  involved  in  the  unfolding  of  these  new  func- 
tions. In  other  words,  the  individual  must  attain  to  a 
certain  strength  and  capacity  as  an  individual,  before  he  is 
ready  for  those  more  exacting  functions  through  which  he 
is  to  make  his  contribution  to  the  life  of  the  race.  By 
way  of  prelude  then,  to  the  unfolding  of  the  sex  capacities, 
we  have  that  period  of  comparatively  slow  but  solid  growth, 
which  extends  usually  over  the  last  three  or  four  years  of 
childhood;  and  then,  as  the  immediate  herald  of  this  un- 
folding, a  rapid  acceleration  in  the  growth  of  the  whole 
body,  as  we  have  seen,  beginning  about  the  eleventh  or 
twelfth  year.  Sex  growth  involves  much  more  than  can  be 
expressed  in  terms  of  anatomy  and  physiology;  but  the  in- 


32     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

tellectual,  emotional,  and  other  psychical  aspects  of  the  sub- 
ject may  be  more  appropriately  discussed  under  later  head- 
ings. A  full  description,  even  of  its  physical  features, 
would  require  more  space  than  can  be  given  to  it  here. 
The  main  facts  are  fairly  well  known,  especially  those  that 
reveal  themselves  externally.  The  whole  body,  and  es- 
pecially the  pelvic  system,  begins  to  round  out  towards  its 
adult  form.  The  bones  are  enlarged  and  strengthened. 
The  tissues  and  blood  vessels  increase  in  size  and  capac- 
ity. In  the  female  a  marked  development  takes  place  in 
the  hips  and  in  the  mammae,  while  the  entire  body  takes  on 
a  new  fulness  and  grace  of  contour,  through  the  deposition 
of  adipose  tissue.  In  both  sexes  the  hair  of  the  head  may 
change  its  color  slightly,  and  a  new  growth  of  hair  makes 
its  appearance  on  the  pubic  and  other  regions  of  the  body. 
In  the  male,  of  course,  the  growth  of  hair  on  the  face  is 
one  of  the  most  certain  of  all  signs  that  the  transition  from 
boyhood  to  manhood  has  begun.  In  both  sexes  the  organs 
that  are  to  be  specially  concerned  in  the  work  of  the  repro- 
duction of  the  species  enter  now  on  that  process  of  growth 
which  is  to  culminate  at  maturity  in  their  perfect  fitness  to 
exercise  these  functions.  This  means  increase  in  size,  modi- 
fications of  form,  and  development  of  power  and  capacity, 
in  the  one  case  for  the  fertilization  of  the  ovum,  and  in 
the  other  for  the  process  of  conception,  and  the  work  of 
nourishing  the  foetus  and  bringing  it  to  the  birth,  as  well 
as  the  later  processes  of  nurture. 

The  changes  just  referred  to  are  more  largely  internal 
than  external.  It  is  worthy  of  note  that  the  organs  of  pro- 
creation are  situated,  either  quite  within  the  body,  or  in 
its  best  protected  exterior  regions;  as  though  nature  were 
especially  solicitous  for  the  safeguarding  of  the  physical 
sources  of  life.  Here  that  slow  but  steady  ripening  goes 
on,  occupying  practically  the  whole  period  of  the  teens; 
and  happy  are  those  boys  and  girls  in  whom  the  process 
is  allowed  to  complete  itself  naturally  and  normally,  neither 


THE  BODY  33 

retarded  by  hardships  or  repressive  regimen,  nor  hastened 
by  excessive  excitements  and  premature  acquaintance  with 
emotions  and  ideas  that  belong  by  right  only  to  adult  life. 
The  problem  of  securing  this  natural  and  normal  develop- 
ment is  not  easy  of  solution  in  view  of  all  the  influences  that 
are  hostile,  and  yet  no  other  problem  is  more  worthy  of 
attention. 

While  in  some  respects  it  may  be  said  that  growth  is 
completed  at  about  the  twentieth  year,  in  other  respects  it 
goes  on  for  many  years  later.  Very  little,  as  a  rule,  is 
added  to  the  height  of  the  body,  or  to  the  size  of  the  organs, 
after  this  age  (though  the  weight  may  increase  or  dimin- 
ish by  the  addition  or  subtraction  of  fat)  but  development 
of  power,  skill,  and  the  capacity  of  endurance  may  continue 
until  senescence  has  set  in.  By  the  close  of  the  period  of 
adolescence  man  may  be  said  to  have  his  equipment  sub- 
stantially complete,  but  his  training,  in  which  he  learns  how 
to  use  that  equipment,  is  far  from  complete,  and  presents 
almost  unlimited  possibilities  of  further  progress. 

Reference  has  been  made  to  the  asymmetrical  character 
of  the  growth  of  the  various  parts  and  organs  of  the  body, 
especially  during  the  earlier  adolescent  years.  By  degrees 
the  balance  is  restored,  and  the  normal  youth  and  maiden 
move  on  towards  that  symmetry  which  is  the  characteristic 
of  the  complete  man  and  woman,  wherein  every  power  and 
faculty,  every  organ  and  part,  enters  into  a  close  and  vital 
relation  with  every  other,  in  the  unity  of  the  whole;  no 
single  part  or  faculty  being  over-developed  or  under- 
developed in  such  a  way  as  to  interfere  with  the  full  and 
proper  development  of  every  other.  This  is  the  true  object 
of  education,  in  the  larger  sense  of  that  term,  which  em- 
braces both  body  and  soul,  and  endeavors  to  make  of  the 
whole  man  a  harmonious,  vigorous,  efficient,  and  beautiful 
unit,  equal  to  every  emergency,  fitted  foi  every  legitimate 
task,  ready  for  every  high  endeavor,  and  panoplied,  by  its 
own  essential  wholeness,  against  the  attacks  of  the  forces 


of  disintegration.  This  was  the  ideal  of  education  enter- 
tained by  the  Greeks,  who,  in  the  fundamentals  of  this  mat- 
ter, have  not  yet  been  surpassed. 

In  this  steady  progress  of  the  youth  and  maiden  towards 
the  symmetry  of  the  perfect  adult,  that  awkwardness  and 
ungainliness,  which  is  the  price  of  rapid  and  asymmetrical 
growth,  and  which  is  particularly  noticeable  in  boys  on  ac- 
count of  their  larger  frames  and  smaller  relative  deposition 
of  fat,  gives  way  by  degrees  to  the  ease  and  grace  of  form 
and  of  movement,  the  dignity  of  carriage,  the  power  of  in- 
hibition and  control,  which  is  the  birthright  of  every  boy 
and  girl,  and  should  be  the  secure  possession  of  every  man 
and  woman.  In  the  earlier  years  of  the  adolescent  period 
this  development  of  control  and  mastery  is  temporarily 
checked  in  some  measure,  owing  to  the  rapid  increase  in 
the  strength  of  those  impulses  over  which  it  is  to  be  exer- 
cised; so  that  the  boy  of  fourteen  or  fifteen  may  show  a 
smaller  degree  of  self-possession  and  self-control,  relatively, 
than  the  boy  of  eleven  or  twelve.  But  under  judicious 
training  the  power  lost  is  rapidly  regained  and  augmented, 
until  in  a  few  years  it  has  passed  far  beyond  what  it  was  in 
any  previous  period. 

The  general  health  of  the  body,  especially  during  the 
earlier  years  of  the  period  of  adolescence,  may  be  very  well 
described  by  the  phrase  "  unstable  equilibrium."  Growth 
is  rapid,  development  is  asymmetrical,  appetite  is  capricious, 
and  very  imperfectly  controlled.  Likes  and  dislikes  are 
exceedingly  strong,  and  not  always  balanced  by  a  strong 
will.  Favorite  foods  are  indulged  in  to  excess,  and  eaten 
too  rapidly,  with  insufficient  mastication,  and  this  is  fol- 
lowed by  its  natural  penalty  in  the  form  of  indigestion, 
temporary  loss  of  appetite,  lassitude,  and  headache.  Foods 
that  are  disliked  are  positively  loathed.  To  many  young 
people,  especially  girls,  fat  meat  is  as  distasteful  as  castor 
oil,  the  very  sight  of  it  being  enough  to  cause  a  shudder. 
Pastry,  cake,  confectionery,  and  all  kinds  of  eatables  that 
contain  a  large  proportion  of  sugar,  are,  on  the  other  hand, 


THE  BODY  35 

eagerly  sought  after.  The  appetite  for  candy  seems  in 
some  cases  practically  uncontrollable;  and  while  this  may 
very  likely  be  a  symptom  erf  some  real  organic  need,  it  is 
pretty  certain  that  much  of  the  instability  of  adolescent 
health  is  due  to  the  unrestrained  character  of  the  adolescent 
appetite. 

What  has  been  said  in  reference  to  foods  may  also  be  said 
in  reference  to  all  those  other  things  in  which  youth  seeks 
the  satisfaction  of  its  desires.  It  is  an  age  of  intense  crav- 
ings, not  well  understood,  even  by  the  person  himself;  an 
age  in  which  soft,  bland  foods,  gentle  forms  of  muscular 
exercise,  and  insipid  mental  pabulum,  are  detested.  Every- 
thing must  thrill.  The  appetite  seeks  what  is  stimulating  to 
the  palate,  the  muscles  cry  out  for  strenuous  exertion, 
and  the  mind  for  a  story  with  an  exciting  plot.  Hence 
intemperance,  in  all  its  forms,  is  apt  to  show  itself, 
and  unless  checked,  to  fix  itself  as  a  life  habit.  The  first 
tampering  with  tobacco,  and  with  alcohol,  usually  dates 
from  the  teens.  Secret  vice  makes  its  insidious  appeal, 
that  becomes  with  each  indulgence  vastly  more  difficult  to 
resist.  ^K^oderation,  even  in  sports  and  games,  is  extremely 
hard  to  observe;  and  so  the  physical  strength  is  overtaxed, 
leading  to  periods  of  reaction,  with  extreme  lassitude  and 
inertia.  The  nervous  excitement  and  strain  that  belong 
to  modern  social  life,  especially  in  the  great  cities,  with 
amusements  that  involve  late  hours,  or  literary  pursuits 
carried  on  far  into  the  night,  impair  the  physical  vigor  at 
the  very  time  in  life  when  that  vigor  ought  to  be  most  care- 
fully conserved.  And  so  girls  become  pale,  anaemic,  and 
listless;  and  boys  irritable,  quarrelsome,  and  hard  to  please. 
To  all  of  which  must  be  added,  in  the  case  of  girls,  those 
disorders,  delays,  and  irregularities,  which  sometimes  occur 
in  the  menstrual  function,  and  do  much  to  interrupt  and 
impair  the  general  health  of  the  organism. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  energy  and  vigor  of  the  body, 
the  strong  flow  of  blood  through  the  circulatory  system,  the 
augmented  respiration,  and  the  very  brightness  and  buoy- 


36     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

ancy  of  the  spirit  of  youth,  with  the  intensifying  of  all  the 
forces  of  the  psycho-physical  organism,  bring  about  t 
powerful  resistance  to  these  things,  so  that  recovery  is 
prompt  and  rapid.  And  so,  though  there  are  a  good  many 
petty  ailments,  and  some  of  a  more  serious  nature,  the  death 
rate  is  very  low;  lower,  apparently  at  thirteen  or  fourteen 
than  at  any  other  time  in  life.  The  United  States  Census 
Report  for  the  year  ending  May  3ist,  igoo,1  indicates 
that  the  smallest  percentage  of  deaths  occurred  between  the 
ages  of  ten  and  fourteen;  and  this  is  corroborated,  at  least 
for  the  last  two  years  of  this  period,  by  nearly  all  the 
other  statistical  tables  I  have  been  able  to  examine.  The 
general  conclusion,  indeed,  from  all  the  observations,  is 
that  the  period  of  most  rapid  growth  (usually  from  twelve 
to  fifteen  approximately),  while  beset  by  many  ailments, 
yet  has  such  great  power  of  resistance  as  to  be  the  period 
of  most  marked  vitality.  That  the  time  of  rapid  growth 
is  a  time  of  weakness  and  disease,  is  a  rather  misleading 
statement;  for  in  spite  of  the  anaemias,  scolioses,  eye- 
strains,  headaches,  pulse  irregularities,  heart-palpitations, 
indigestions,  insomnias,  and  nervous  troubles,  that  abound 
in  the  period  of  early  adolescence,  it  is  nevertheless  a  period 
in  which  the  general  vitality  is  high  and  the  death  rate  low. 
If  one  takes  the  trouble  to  translate  the  records  of  some  of 
the  most  reliable  observations  regarding  the  death  rate  into 
the  form  of  a  curve  drawn  on  a  chart,  covering  the  nine 
years  from  eight  to  seventeen,  it  will  be  found  that  the 
two  ends  of  the  curve  are  located  at  about  the  same  height, 
and  that  the  curve  swings  down  to  its  lowest  point  about 
midway  between.  This  means  that  the  time  of  pubescence, 
the  time  of  most  rapid  growth,  and  the  time  of  the  lowest 
death  rate,  are  practically  synchronous. 

1  Quoted  by  Haslett:  Pedagogical  Bible  School,  p.  181. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  MIND:  GENERAL  TREATMENT 

Something  has  been  said  in  the  last  chapter  of  the  close 
connexion  between  the  body  and  the  mind,  and,  by  inference, 
of  the  importance  of  the  body  in  relation  to  the  education 
of  the  mind,  and  of  the  importance  of  the  mind  in  relation 
to  the  development  of  the  body.  So  close  and  vital,  indeed, 
is  this  psycho-physical  relation,  that  some  writers  have  used 
the  term  "  self  "  in  several  different  meanings,  one  of  which 
has  reference  to  the  composite  whole  made  up  of  body  and 
mind  taken  together.1 

There  is,  perhaps,  no  other  period  in  the  history  of  the 
individual  life  that  more  imperatively  demands,  for  its 
due  appreciation,  an  understanding  of  the  intimate  relation 
between  the  physical  and  the  mental,  than  that  period  which 
we  have  under  review  in  this  book.  We  have  given  some 
account  of  the  growth  of  the  body  as  a  whole,  and  in 
regard  to  its  principal  parts  and  organs.  We  shall  now 
direct  our  attention  to  the  growth  of  the  mind,  first  in  its 
broad  general  features,  and  afterward  in  regard  to  its 
leading  processes  and  powers,  taken  separately,  so  far  as 
that  may  be  feasible.  A  complete  psychology  is,  of  course, 
not  attempted,  but  only  such  exposition  of  the  broad  and 
basal  facts  as  shall  be  requisite  for  the  object  which  we 
have  in  hand. 

In  the  first  place  we  should  observe  the  immense  variety, 
and  the  ceaseless  fluctuations  among  the  states  and  pro- 
cesses of  the  mind.  Q]he  mental  life  is  like  a  changing  sea, 
that  is  never  at  rest ;  or  like  a  rapidly  flowing  river,  in  which, 

1  See  e.  g.  Alexander ;  Self  at  Subject  and  as  Person.    Artist.  Soc.  Proc., 
1910-11. 

37 


38     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

as  Heraclitus  said,  no  man  ever  bathed  twice,  for  other 
waters,  and  yet  other,  are  continually  flowing;  or  like  the 
kaleidoscope,  with  its  endless  diversity  of  combinations, 
altering  with  each  slightest  motion  of  the  containing  tube. 
Nothing  can  exceed  the  vast  variety  and  the  marvelous  di- 
versity of  the  states  and  processes  of  consciousness,  nor  their 
ceaseless  and  bewildering  changes.  One  has  only  to  look 
within  to  observe  how  unceasing  are  the  permutations  and 
combinations  that  take  place  among  the  various  elements  of 
his  conscious  experience;  and  how  at  one  moment  it  may 
be  the  element  of  feeling,  at  another  the  intellectual  quality, 
and  at  another  the  volitional  feature,  that  occupies  the 
focal  point  of  consciousness.  There  are,  also,  all  degrees 
of  clearness,  not  only  in  the  individual  feelings  and  ideas, 
but  in  the  total  area  of  consciousness.  There  are  times 
when  the  mind  is  alert,  when  all  our  ideas  stand  forth  in 
high  relief,  and  the  entire  contents  of  consciousness  are 
illuminated,  as  by  the  sun  at  noonday  under  a  cloudless  sky. 
At  such  times  mental  work  is  easy  and  pleasant.  At  other 
times  the  mind  is  heavy  and  dull,  and  it  seems  as  though  a 
dense  fog  had  settled  down  over  the  entire  landscape*^ 

Even  if  we  confined  our  attention  for  the  time  being  to 
the  processes  of  sense  perception,  leaving  aside  all  else,  we 
should  still  find  the  data  exceedingly  profuse  and  diversified. 
It  is  quite  true  that  these  sensations  may  be  studied  under 
a  comparatively  small  number  of  class  headings,  correspond- 
ing to  the  various  senses,  sight,  hearing,  touch,  etc.,  with 
which  the  organism  is  equipped;  but  within  this  general 
classification  there  seems  to  be  scarcely  any  limit  to  the 
number  and  variety  of  the  sensations  that  are  distinguish- 
able from  one  another  in  some  particular.  And  if  we  go 
on  to  take  into  account  also  the  processes  and  activities  that 
are  interpretative,  or  emotional,  or  volitional  in  their  nature, 
as  well  as  all  the  various  combinations  into  which  these 
enter  with  one  another,  we  shall  be  still  more  impressed 
with  the  complexity  and  intricacy  of  the  subject  matter  with 
which  psychology  has  to  deal. 


THE  MIND:  GENERAL  TREATMENT   39 

Bewildered  by  this  enormous  variety,  the  casual  observer 
may  be  disposed  to  conclude  that  these  mental  happenings 
are  alike  in  nothing  except  in  being  states  or  processes  of 
consciousness ;  and  that  this  one  common  feature  is  so  funda- 
mental and  simple  in  its  nature  as  to  defy  analysis  or 
definition.  We  speak  of  being  conscious,  and  of  being  un- 
conscious, and  we  understand  one  another.  We  sometimes 
use  the  words  in  a  general  sense,  as  when  a  person  who  takes 
an  anaesthetic  is  said  to  become  unconscious;  and  sometimes 
in  a  more  restricted  sense,  as  when  we  speak  of  being  con- 
scious or  unconscious  of  some  particular  thing.  "  The 
clock  must  have  struck  the  hour,  but  I  was  not  conscious  of 
it."  "  To  be  conscious  "  in  this  case,  means  "  to  be  aware," 
and  so  consciousness  is  "  awareness."  But  in  whichever 
way  we  use  the  term,  it  does  not  appear  possible  to  define 
consciousness  in  the  abstract,  or  by  itself,  but  only  by  refer- 
ence to,  or  in  terms  of  those  individual  states  of  which  we 
are  conscious.  Consciousness  is  sometimes  spoken  of  under 
the  similitude  of  a  stage  or  arena,  whereon  the  players  act 
their  parts,  each  in  his  turn,  before  the  footlights,  and  then 
retire  to  make  room  for  others.  But  this  similitude  is 
not  altogether  appropriate;  for  all  the  actors  might  depart 
from  the  stage  of  a  theatre,  but  the  stage  itself  would  still 
remain;  whereas  if  all  the  individual  states  and  processes 
of  consciousness  were  removed,  consciousness  itself  would 
also  be  removed,  for  consciousness  has  its  entire  content  in 
the  states  and  processes  that  are  conscious. 

These  various  mental  states  do  constantly  and  profoundly 
affect  one  another.  They  are  not  independent  variables, 
any  more  than  they  are  mathematical  constants.  They  are 
in  vital  and  continuous  interaction.  ^Thought  arouses,  and 
at  the  same  time  controls  feeling.  Feeling  facilitates  and 
also  hinders  thought.  A  moderate  degree  of  emotional 
excitement  seems  to  act  as  a  spur  to  the  intellectual  activities ; 
whereas,  if  emotion  be  too  intense,  it  makes  clear  thinking 
and  cool  judgment  difficult  or  impossible.  Our  ideas  in- 
fluence one  another?)  The  admission  of  a  new  idea  into  the 


40     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

mind,  or  its  rejection,  depends  very  largely  on  the  sort  of 
ideas  that  are  already  entrenched  there.  Pre-conceptions 
and  pre-judgments  frequently  close  the  door  of  the  mind  in 
the  face  of  new  ideas.  There  is  a  disposition  in  the  great 
majority  of  us  to  believe,  not  what  we  can  prove  to  be  true, 
but  what  we  hope,  or  fear,  or  desire,  should  be  true.  "  The 
wish  is  father  to  the  thought."  Desires,  aversions,  tastes 
and  preferences,  go  a  long  way  towards  determining  what 
we  shall  think,  and  how  we  shall  act.  Even  our  very  senses 
are  not  free  from  the  influence  of  all  these  things;  so  that,  to 
some  extent  we  see,  hear,  and  touch,  what  we  wish,  hope, 
fear  or  expect,  to  see,  hear,  and  touch.  As,  in  the  world  of 
matter,  every  particle  exerts  on  every  other  a  force  that 
varies  directly  as  the  mass  and  inversely  as  the  square  of  the 
distance,  so  in  the  world  of  mind,  every  state  of  conscious- 
ness exerts  upon  every  other  an  influence  that  varies  ac- 
cording to  laws  that  might,  no  doubt,  be  definitely  formu- 
lated, if  we  possessed  full  knowledge  of  the  conditions. 

Another  fact  which  each  of  us  can  verify  for  himself 
is  that  these  states  and  processes,  so  multiform  and 
so  fluctuating,  do  nevertheless  appear  to  arrange  themselves 
in  a  system,  and  at  the  center,  so  to  speak,  of  the  system,  is 
that  which  each  of  us  calls  "  himself,"  and  which  the  philo- 
sophers call  the  "  ego."  Whatever  difficulty  we  might  have 
in  defining  this  ego,  it  nevertheless  remains  for  each  of  us 
the  rallying  point,  the  inexpugnable  center  of  his  experiences, 
as  well  as  the  ultimate  ground  of  their  valuation.  When 
we  think  of  it  (and  it  is  never  far  from  our  thoughts)  it  is 
represented  as  some  sort  of  principle  that  gives  unity,  mean- 
ing, and  value,  to  the  states  and  processes  that  make  up 
the  stream  of  experience.  We  certainly  think  of  it  as  one, 
while  they  are  many,  and  as  abiding,  while  they  come  and 
pass  away.  It  exists  not  for  them,  but  they  for  it. 

The  purposes  of  a  treatise  which  is  mainly  pedagogical 
are  adequately  served  if  the  genuine  reality  of  the  self 
is  maintained  and  its  educability  recognized,  whatever  be 
the  definition  which  shall  be  finally  given  of  that  self  by 


THE  MIND:  GENERAL  TREATMENT      41 

the  metaphysician.  The  necessity  for  serious  modification 
of  our  procedure  could  arise  only  in  the  event  of  a  con- 
clusive proof  that  the  term  "  self  "  is  a  term  devoid  ot 
content,  or  that  the  "  self,"  whatever  it  may  be,  is  wholly 
incapable  of  that  process  of  development  which  we  call 
"  education." 

It  is  possible  to  make  a  certain  classification  of  those 
mental  states  and  processes,  or,  more  correctly,  of  the  lead- 
ing features  of  those  states  and  processes,  that  make  up 
the  life  of  mind.  Such  classification  is  intended,  not  so 
much  to  furnish  a  table  of  the  ultimate  elements  of  which 
the  mental  life  is  composed,  as  to  show  the  leading  phases 
or  aspects  of  any  total  concrete  experience.  The  mind 
acts  as  a  whole  in  all  its  experiences,  but  there  are  three 
fundamentally  distinct  features  in  these  experiences,  one  or 
other  of  which  may  be  specially  prominent  in  any  given 
case. 

In  the  first  place  we  have  to  notice  that  these  experiences 
involve  that  activity  or  process  which  we  call  thinking,  and 
which  results  in  knowledge.  Those  colors,  sounds,  odors, 
tastes,  and  other  sensations  which  are  continually  occurring 
in  our  sensuous  consciousness,  seem  to  furnish  the  occasion, 
the  starting  point,  and,  as  it  were,  the  materials,  for  the 
work  of  the  intellect;  and  the  work  of  the  intellect  con- 
sists in  their  interpretation.  A  meaning  is  detected  in  them. 
They  are  taken  to  stand  for,  or  to  indicate  the  presence  of, 
real  objects  in  the  real  world.  This  interpretation  yields 
knowledge  in  its  most  primary  and  concrete  form;  the  per- 
ception of  material  things,  without  which  all  the  higher 
forms  of  knowledge  would  be  impossible.  But  knowledge, 
in  all  its  forms,  is  the  same  in  its  essential  nature,  con- 
sisting always  in  the  interpretation  of  experience  by  means 
of  the  judgment. 

The  second  aspect  of  the  mental  life  is  one  which  is  not 
easily  defined  in  general  terms,  but  which  is  fairly  well  under- 
stood by  all  under  its  common  title  of  feeling.  The  color 
of  a  rose,  and  its  odor,  produce  an  agreeable  effect  in  con- 


42     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

sciousness,  over  and  above  the  bare  element  of  sensation. 
The  memories  which  they  call  up  have  not  only  their  knowl- 
edge content  as  memories,  but  there  is  also  in  them  a  thrill 
of  feeling,  more  or  less  intense,  perhaps  pleasant,  perhaps 
painful,  according  to  circumstances.  The  accomplishment 
of  a  piece  of  strenuous  work,  or  the  solution  of  a  vexatious 
problem,  produces  a  feeling  of  pleasure;  while  failure,  loss, 
misunderstanding,  and  disappointment  produce  feelings  that 
are  painful.  Almost  all  mental  processes,  from  the  child's 
vision  of  a  butterfly  to  the  felon's  anticipation  of  the  gal- 
lows, are  more  or  less  saturated  with  feeling. 

But,  in  the  third  place,  mental  states  have  not  only  an 
intellectual  aspect,  and  a  feeling  tone,  but  there  is  also  in 
them  an  element  of  action,  striving,  or  effort.  The  mind 
is  not  merely  a  storehouse  for  ideas;  it  is  not  merely  an 
instrument  that  thrills  with  feeling  under  every  passing  » 
condition;  it  is  also  an  energy  by  which'  adjustments  and 
readjustments  are  made.  Every  sense-impression  tends  to 
set  up  responses;  every  ingoing  process  tends  to  be  fol- 
lowed by  an  outgoing  process,  more  or  less  appropriate;  and 
ideas  in  general  show  a  disposition  to  get  themselves  trans- 
lated into  action  of  some  sort.  Indeed,  we  may  give  this 
statement  a  more  radical  form.  For  ideation  and  emo- 
tion are  themselves  responses,  energies,  and  processes  of 
adjustment.  A  percept  or  a  concept  is  not  so  much  a  pos- 
session in  the  mind,  as  a  construction  by  the  mind,  whose 
very  essence  consists  in  the  psychic  energy  by  which  it  is 
sustained  in  consciousness.  In  so  far  as  this  psychic  energy 
is  initiated  and  directed  by  the  idea  of  a  purpose  to  be  real- 
ized or  of  an  end  to  be  achieved,  we  have  will  in  the  stricter 
sense  of  that  term. 

This  time-honored  division  of  the  essential  features  of 
the  mental  life,  let  me  repeat,  is  arrived  at  by  analysis  of 
the  concrete  totality  of  experience.  As  yielding  the  funda- 
mental and  distinctive  features  of  that  experience  it  has 
not  been  superseded  by  the  minuter  analyses  of  recent  psy- 
chology. For  those  analyses  have  not  revealed  any  elements 


THE  MIND:  GENERAL  TREATMENT   43 

of  the  mental  life  other  than  the  cognitive,  the  emotional 
and  the  volitional. 

It  would  perhaps  be  idle  to  raise  any  question  of  pre- 
eminence among  things  so  reciprocally  dependent  and  so 
co-essential  as  these;  but  the  prevailing  tendency  in  most 
ages  of  the  world  has  been  to  lay  special  emphasis  on  the 
value  of  thought  or  reason,  as  providing  the  element  of 
guidance  and  control  to  activities  and  processes  that  would 
otherwise  be  spasmodic  and  largely  abortive.  If  in  will  we 
find  the  driving  force,  and  in  feeling  the  warmth,  it  is  to 
thought  that  we  must  look  for  the  light  that  reveals  both 
the  end  aimed  at  and  the  path  by  which  that  end  is  to  be 
reached.  The  forces  and  resources  of  nature  are  being 
made  available  for  man's  use  by  the  power  of  thought. 
The  lower  animals,  many  of  whom  are  swifter  and  stronger 
than  man,  yet  stand  in  awe  of  him  because  of  his  intelligence. 
He  outwits  them,  defeats  them,  subdues  them,  makes  thenv 
plow  his  fields,  drag  his  vehicles,  and  transport  his  produce 
to  the  market.  He  feeds  and  clothes  himself  with  the  sub- 
stance of  their  bodies  and  the  products  of  their  toil.  By 
his  care  of  them,  in  breeding  and  feeding,  he  produces  con- 
tinually higher  and  more  valuable  types;  and  those  that  re- 
main obnoxious  to  him,  or  incorrigible  to  his  sway,  he  ex- 
terminates. Man's  dominion  over  all  else  upon  the  earth 
is  achieved  and  sustained  because  he  alone  is  endowed  with 
the  higher  capacities  of  reflection. 

With  the  advent  of  puberty,  and  the  beginnings  of  the 
adolescent  period,  there  is  a  marked  acceleration  in  the  de- 
velopment of  the  whole  psychic  life.  The  mind,  which  has 
been  expanding  throughout  childhood,  now  expands  more  .( 
rapidly.  The  intellect  essays  larger  fields  of  conquest  in  the 
way  of  knowledge.  The  emotional  nature  becomes  en- 
dowed with  a  finer  sensitiveness  to  the  subtle  shades  of  the 
beautiful  and  the  sublime.  And  the  will  seems  to  awaken  to 
a  new  realization  of  its  own  power,  and  to  attempt  things 
that  in  the  previous  stages  of  life  never  presented  themselves 
as  possibilities.  New  instincts  come  into  play,  and  new 


44     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

interests  are  developed.  These  new  instincts  and  interests 
have  reference,  in  large  measure,  to  human  relationships, 
and  they  carry  with  them,  in  due  time,  a  deeper  insight  into 
the  meaning  of  these  relationships.  The  idea  of  oneself  as 
a  little  child  among  little  children,  doing  as  he  is  bidden, 
without  the  responsibility  of  deciding  what  he  should  do 
and  what  he  should  leave  undone,  cared  for  continually  by 
others,  and  spending  all  the  time  not  otherwise  requisitioned, 
in  thoughtless  play  with  others  of  his  age,  begins  to  recede, 
and  will  soon  be  pushed  aside,  its  place  being  taken  by  the 
other  idea,  of  oneself  as  a  member  of  a  social  order  that 
exists  for  a  serious  purpose,  and  in  which  each  individual 
has  his  own  part  to  play,  his  own  course  to  pursue,  his  own 
ends  to  achieve,  his  own  ideals  to  realize,  while  at  the  same 
time  being  under  certain  obligations  touching  the  rights  and 
claims  of  the  other  members  of  this  social  order.  In  child- 
hood there  has  been  comparatively  little  thought  of  what 
the  individual  owed  to  those  about  him.  By  this  I  do  not 
mean  that  small  children  are  necessarily  thoughtless  or  un- 
grateful, but  only  that  their  minds  are  not  yet  capable  of 
a  full  appreciation  of  the  extent  and  meaning  of  their  social 
relationships.  With  the  dawning  of  these  broader  concep- 
tions in  the  early  teens,  the  boy  and  the  girl  become  the 
youth  and  the  maiden,  and  are  already  on  the  way  to  that 
physical  and  mental  status  which  constitutes  manhood  and 
womanhood. 

During  the  first  part  of  this  period,  say  to  the  close  of  the 
fifteenth  or  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  year,  the  emotional 
life  seems  to  develop  in  a  marked  way,  and  in  some  re- 
spects to  outstrip  the  intellectual.  Or,  perhaps  it  would  be 
truer  to  say  that,  while  both  the  intellectual  and  the  emo- 
tional nature  show  at  this  time  a  marked  acceleration  of  de- 
velopment, the  very  vigor  and  intensity  of  that  development 
leads  to  a  certain  amount  of  dislocation,  in  which  the  con- 
nexion between  the  two  becomes  somewhat  less  closely  knit, 
and  the  control  of  feeling  by  thought  is  even  less  constant 


THE  MIND:  GENERAL  TREATMENT      45 

and  less  certain  than  in  the  period  just  preceding.  Many 
orders  of  emotion  are  to  all  intents  and  purposes  new  at 
this  time,  and  they  are  apt  to  sweep  the  soul  with  a  power 
that  is  well-nigh  irresistible.  The  same  is  true  of  the  ideas 
and  images  that  come  and  go  in  consciousness.  Many  new 
orders  of  ideas  are  now  arising,  and  by  their  very  novelty 
they  hold  the  mind  in  thrall,  moving  it  hither  and  thither 
as  they  will.  Qhere  may  be,  for  a  time,  a  mental  condition 
somewhat  analogous  to  that  of  a  state,  in  which  the  masses 
are  strong,  aggressive,  and  perhaps  somewhat  unruly,  and 
the  central  government  not  quite  able  to  assert  effectively  its 
rightful  authority.  The  young  adolescent  scarcely  knows  ' 
what  to  do  with  his  powers  of  mind  and  of  body,  with  the 
surging  tides  of  feeling,  with  the  procession  of  images  and 
ideas,  and  with  the  vigorous  currents  of  muscular  and  ner-  i 
vous  force. 

But  already  in  the  second  or  later  period  of  the  teens 
the  development  of  the  powers  of  mind  and  body  begins  to 
settle  into  more  regular  lines  and  to  take  on  a  somewhat 
more  sober  character.  There  is  no  falling  off  in  vigor  and 
energy,  but  that  vigor  and  energy  come  under  more  effec- 
tive control.  The  forces  of  passion  have  not  diminished; 
in  all  probability  they  have  greatly  increased.  But  if 
education  has  proceeded  along  rational  lines,  then  these 
forces  should  have  become  more  amenable  to  the  authority 
of  the  intellect.  The  rational  mind  should  come,  between 
the  ages  of  fifteen  and  twenty,  into  greater  relative  promi- 
nence in  regard  to  the  whole  life  of  feeling,  thought  and 
will.  Definite  concepts  in  reference  to  the  meaning  and  the 
purpose  of  life,  begin  to  shape  themselves  in  consciousness; 
clearer  judgments  as  to  the  relative  values  of  things,  and 
more  far-reaching  purposes,  begin  to  exert  their  power  in  the, 
shaping  and  government  of  conduct,  ^^ental  growth  may 
be  measured,  indeed,  by  the  breadth  of  the  view,  the  depth 
of  the  insight,  the  steadiness  and  sobriety  of  the  aims,  the  , 
loftiness  of  the  purposes  that  are  formed,  and  the  con-  j 


46     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

sistency  and  persistency  with  which  those  purposes  are  fol- 
lowed up,  all  distracting  passion,  inclination,  ^jid  inertia 
being  brought  resolutely  into  harmony  therewith/) 

Youth  is  making  the  transition  from  the  weakness  and 
limitation  of  the  child  to  the  strength  and  self-mastery  of 
the  mature  man.  He  has  begun  to  feel,  more  intensely  than 
ever  before,  the  passion  of  achievement.  He  rejoices  as  a 
strong  man  to  run  a  race.  Life  stands  before  him,  painted, 
by  his  fertile  imagination,  in  colors  that  glow  and  fascinate. 
In  his  bright  lexicon  there  is  no  such  word  as  "  fail."  If 
the  little  child  entertains  extravagant  notions  of  what  he 
can  do,  it  is  because  he  has  no  clear  conception,  either  of 
the  difficulties  of  all  human  achievement,  or  of  the  limita- 
tions of  his  own  powers.  If  the  adolescent  still  enter- 
tains notions  only  a  little  less  extravagant  than  those  of 
the  child,  it  is  because  he  is  only  a  little  better  acquainted 
with  those  difficulties  and  limitations.  And,  on  the  other 
hand,  his  powers  have  grown  in  the  interval,  and  there  are 
some  achievements  to  his  credit,  and  the  tides  of  life  have 
risen,  the  purposes  have  broadened,  and  the  inspiration  and 
the  zest  of  living  have  grown  greater.  The  mental  vision 
of  the  adolescent  may  not  be  extremely  broad,  but  it  is 
enormously  broader  than  that  of  the  child;  and  with  that 
broadened  outlook,  and  that  intensified  dynamic,  in  feeling 
and  will,  the  period  marks  itself  off  from  all  that  has  pre- 
ceded, and  constitutes  the  preparation  and  the  prelude  for 
all  that  is  to  follow,  in  the  life  of  maturity. 


CHAPTER  V 

INSTINCT  AND   HABIT 

The  connexion  between  instincts  and  habits  is  so  close 
that  the  two  may  very  well  be  discussed  together.1  But 
both  terms  should  be  taken  in  a  broader  sense  than  that  in 
which  they  are  commonly  employed.  They  should  be  un- 
derstood as  applying  to  the  entire  psycho-physical  life,  in- 
stead of  being  restricted,  as  they  often  are,  to  the  merely 
muscular.  Consciousness  is  essentially  a  matter  of  reaction 
and  adjustment,  whether  you  consider  the  cognitive,  the 
emotional,  or  the  volitional,  phase  of  it.  Always  there  is  a 
stimulus  of  some  sort,  and  always  a  response,  or  a  tendency 
to  respond  to  that  stimulus.  And  everywhere  we  may  see, 
on  the  one  hand,  that  certain  forms  of  adjustment  or  reac- 
tion are  native  to  the  individual  and  take  place  directly,  on 
the  occurrence  of  the  appropriate  conditions,  without  having 
to  be  learned;  and  on  the  other,  that  any  form  of  reaction 
becomes  more  firmly  fixed,  as  a  rule,  with  every  repetition 
of  it.  The  term  "  instinct "  refers  to  the  former  of  these 
two  facts,  while  the  term  "  habit "  refers  to  the  latter. 

Both  instinct  and  habit,  then,  have  to  do  with  feeling 
and  thought  as  well  as  with  movement.  Indulgence  in  feel- 
ings of  any  given  type  such  as  the  feeling  of  anger,  strength- 
ens the  tendency  to  give  way  to  such  feelings;  and  so  one 
forms  the  habit,  say,  of  getting  angry  upon  the  slightest 
provocation.  So  one  may  form  habits  of  thought.  By  re- 
peated efforts  of  close  attention  to  profound  subjects,  the 
habit  of  giving  such  attention  is  formed.  In  like  manner 
it  may  be  said  that  every  phase  of  our  conscious  activity 
is  underlaid  with  instinctive  tendencies  and  the  course  of  its 

1  Habit  is  considered  here  only  in  its  relation  to  instinct.  In  Chapter 
VIII  will  be  found  a  further  discussion  of  habit  in  its  relation  to  will. 

47 


48     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

development  very  largely  predetermined  thereby.  It  is 
scarcely  too  much  to  say  that  the  instincts  are  "  the  essential 
springs  or  motive  powers  of  all  thought  and  action,"  that 
they  "  determine  the  ends  of  all  activities  and  supply  the 
driving  power  by  which  all  mental  activities  are  sustained," 
or  that  "  in  them  we  are  confronted  with  the  central  mystery 
of  life  and  mind  and  will."  1  In  the  same  work  from  which 
these  quotations  are  made,  instinct  is  defined  as  "  an  inher- 
ited or  innate  psycho-physical  disposition  which  determines 
its  possessor  to  perceive,  and  to  pay  attention  to,  objects  of 
a  certain  class,  to  experience  emotional  excitement  of  a  par- 
ticular quality  upon  perceiving  such  an  object,  and  to  act  in 
regard  to  it  in  a  particular  manner,  or  at  least  to  experi- 
ence an  impulse  to  such  action."  2 

However,  since  the  instincts,  considered  by  themselves,  or 
in  abstraction,  are  mere  tendencies,  dispositions,  or  apti- 
tudes, it  is  clear  that  they  must  be  studied  through  the  reac- 
tions in  which  they  manifest  themselves.  And  since  the  most 
palpable  of  these  reactions  are  those  that  take  the  form  of 
muscular  movement,  it  is  not  surprising  that  the  subject  has 
usually  been  approached  from  that  point  of  view,  and  the 
instincts,  as  a  rule,  defined  and  described  in  motor  terms. 
Prof.  Lloyd  Morgan  3  applies  the  term  "  instinctive  activ- 
ities "  to  certain  groups  of  co-ordinated  acts,  which  he  pro- 
ceeds to  characterize;  and  Professor  James  describes  at 
great  length  and  with  much  care  the  kinds  of  actions  that 
may  be  called  instinctive.4  Yet  it  should  not  be  forgotten 
that  certain  ways  of  thinking  and  feeling,  as  well  as  certain 
ways  of  acting,  are  instinctive.  In  other  words  the  total 
reaction,  the  entire  cognitive-affective-conative  process  may 
be  instinctive  in  its  character.  For  example,  we  are  by 
nature  predisposed  to  feel  the  thrill  of  fear,  and  to  shrink 
away  or  fly  from  certain  kinds  of  objects.  The  feeling  and 

1  McDougall,  An  Introduction  to  Social  Psychology,  London,  1908,  Ch.  II. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  29. 

8  Morgan,  Habit  and  Instinct,  London,  1896. 

4  James,    The   Principles   of  Psychology,   New   York,    1890,    Vol.   II,    Ch. 
XXIV. 


INSTINCT  AND  HABIT  49 

the  movement  are  parts  of  one  total  instinctive  reaction. 
The  gregarious  instinct,  and  the  instinct  of  possession,  in- 
volve elements  of  ideation  and  elements  of  feeling  as  well 
as  the  tendency  towards  certain  kinds  of  movement. 

Instincts  might  almost  be  described  as  race  habits.  In 
all  probability  their  origin  is  to  be  found  in  ancestral  reac- 
tions which,  having  been  found  to  yield  satisfaction,  were 
repeated,  became  habitual  through  such  repetition,  modi- 
fied the  organism  in  a  manner  favorable  to  their  further 
repetition,  and  issued  in  native  tendencies  to  that  sort  of 
reaction  in  the  succeeding  generations.  Every  organ  is  so 
constituted  by  nature  as  to  be  fitted  to  respond  in  certain 
ways  to  the  action  of  certain  stimuli;  and  by  a  process  of 
natural  selection  those  forms  of  reaction  and  adjustment 
that  make  for  the  preservation  and  well-being  of  the  indi- 
vidual and  of  the  species  to  which  he  belongs  are  preserved 
and  confirmed,  so  that  the  organism  becomes  predisposed 
thereto.  It  will  thus  be  seen  that  instinct  and  habit,  while 
easy  enough  to  distinguish  and  define  separately,  are  yet 
most  intimately  connected  in  our  actual  experience.  The 
one  clear  distinction  between  them  is  that  instincts  are  in- 
herited, while  habits  are  acquired. 

Man  is  a  being  plentifully  endowed  with  instincts.  Even 
when  compared  with  the  lower  animals,  he  does  not  ap- 
pear to  be  at  any  disadvantage  in  this  respect,  though  the 
contrary  was  for  a  long  time  the  generally  accepted  opinion. 
The  difference  between  him  and  them  lies  in  the  fact  that, 
as  a  being  also  endowed  with  the  higher  faculties  of  the 
rational  mind,  his  behavior  is  relatively  less  governed  by 
mere  instinct  than  theirs,  or,  what  amounts  to  the  same 
thing,  relatively  more  governed  by  reflection.  While  the 
instincts  of  all  animals  are  subject  to  modification  in  various 
ways,  those  of  the  human  being  are  peculiarly  so,  because 
he  is  capable  of  reflecting  on  his  instincts  and  discovering 
reasons  for  wishing  to  make  them  other  than  they  are. 

The  pecular  marks  of  instinctive  behavior  are  mainly 
these : 


50 

1.  //  does  not  have  to.  be  learned  by  experience,  but  occurs 
promptly  on  the  very  first  appropriate  occasion,  though  it 
may  not  be  so  perfectly  executed  on  this  first  occasion  as 
afterwards.     An  infant,  for  example,  does  not  write  spon- 
taneously the  first  time  a  pencil  is  placed  in  his  hand.     Writ- 
ing, therefore,  is  not  instinctive;  it  must  be  learned.     But 
he  clasps  with  the  hand  the  pencil  that  is  placed  in  the  open 
palm  for  the  first  time,  though  the  movement  of  clasping 
becomes    more    firm,    prompt    and    strong    with    practice. 
Clasping,  then,  is  an  instinctive  movement,  though  writing 
is  not;  and  the  first  characteristic  of  instinctive  movements 
is  that  they  are  not  learned,  in  the  ordinary  sense,  but  are 
at  once  performed,  when  the  proper  occasion  arrives.     As 
"  unlearned  reactions  "  they  are  to  be  traced  to  the  original 
equipment  of  the  individual,  through  heredity. 

2.  Though  instincts  are  inborn  tendencies,  yet  they  do 
not  in  all  cases  show  themselves  or  issue  in  their  appropriate 
reactions  at  the  beginning  of  life.     Certain  of  the  instincts, 
such  as  the  parental,  require  time  for  their  ripening,  as  it 
were.     Certain  elements  of  physical  growth,  as  well  as  a 
certain  stage  of  mental  development,  are  necessary  before 
these   instincts   can   show   themselves.     Nevertheless   they 
must  be  classed  as  instincts,  since  they  issue,  when  these  con- 
ditions are  fulfilled,  and  when  the  proper  occasion  arrives, 
in  "  unlearned  reactions,"  just  as  truly  as  the  others. 

3.  "  When  the  proper  occasion  arrives  "  means  chiefly 
this,  that  the  appropriate  object  is  presented  to  the  senses. 
The  fear  instinct,  for  instance,  issues  in  its  appropriate  re- 
action as  soon  as  a  "  fearful  "  object  is  perceived.     This 
statement,  however,  does  not  quite  cover  the  ground,  for 
instinctive  movements  often  occur  when  the  place  of  the 
appropriate  object  is  taken  by  some  more  or  less  inappro- 
priate substitute.     Infants  of  the  mammalian  order,  for  ex- 
tmple,  are  born,  ts  a  rule,  with  the  sucking  instinct,  but  the 
movements  of  sucking  will  take  place  if  one  places  a  finger, 
or  almost  any  other  small  object,  in  contact  with  the  child's 
lips.     They  may  often  be  seen  to  occur,  in  fact,  not  only  in 


INSTINCT  AND  HABIT  51 

the  absence  of  the  proper  object,  but  in  default  of  any  object 
whatever.  In  such  cases  it  may  be  that  faint  memory  im- 
ages of  the  proper  object  furnish  the  stimulus  ordinarily 
provided  by  the  object  itself.  In  any  case  it  is  characteris- 
tic of  instinctive  movements  that  they  are  unlearned  sensori- 
motor  reactions  to  which  the  psycho-physical  organism  is 
predisposed  by  heredity,  and  that  they  ordinarily  occur  in 
response  to  sensory  stimulation  of  a  certain  appropriate 
type.  Thus  they  require  the  conjoint  operation  of  internal 
and  external  factors;  that  is,  of  conditions  belonging  to  the 
organism  itself,  and  other  conditions  that  act  as  sensory 
stimuli  upon  the  organism. 

4.  Another   characteristic   of   instinctive   movements   is 
their  uniformity.     In  their  original  form  they  are  executed 
in  practically  the  same  way  by  all  the  members  of  a  species. 
The  instinctive  movements  expressive  of  fear  are  in  their 
main  features  so  similar  among  all  human  beings,  and  even 
among  all  the  higher  animals,  that  they  can  be  recognized 
and  interpreted  at  a  glance.     The  same  may  be  said  of  the 
movements  expressive  of  anger,  or  disgust,  or  love,  or  of 
any  other  group  of  instinctive  movements.     There  are,  of 
course,  slight  variations  from  individual  to  individual,  and 
slight  modifications  in  the  same  individual  from  one  occasion 
to  another;  yet  the  fact  remains,  that  any  given  type  of  in- 
stinctive behavior,  so  long  as  it  remains  purely  instinctive, 
takes  practically  the  same  form  in  all  the  members  of  the 
same  race,  and  in  all  cases  of  reaction  to  similar  conditions. 

5.  Yet  in  another  sense  instinctive  behavior  is  highly  sus- 
ceptible to  modificaton,  and  that  in  more  than  one  way. 
The  instincts  themselves,  and  consequently  the  movements  in 
which  they  are  expressed,  are  subject  to  variation,  and  even 
to  decay  and  extinction.     Instincts  are  not  necessarily  per- 
manent.    Just  as  some  genuine  instincts  do  not  show  them- 
selves at  the  beginning  of  life,  so  others  disappear  before 
the  end  of  it.     If  an  instinct  gets  no  opportunity  to  express 
itself,  it  fades  out.     Young  chicks  follow  the  mother  hen 
instinctively,  but  if  they  are  hatched  in  an  incubator,  and 


52     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

never  provided  with  an  opportunity  to  follow,  they  soon 
lose  all  inclination  to  do  so.  Even  under  normal  conditions 
each  instinct  manifests  itself  in  its  own  proper  season,  ful- 
fills its  function,  and  in  due  time  passes  away,  either  with 
or  without  the  cessation  of  the  requisite  stimulus;  usually 
being  overborne  and  crowded  out  by  other  instincts,  or  by 
functions  of  a  higher  order.  The  sucking  instinct,  universal 
in  the  mammalia,  fades  away  in  due  time,  partly  through 
the  withdrawal  of  the  external  stimulus,  and  partly  through 
the  acquisition  of  teeth  and  the  discovery  of  other  means  of 
satisfying  hunger.  The  disposition  to  play  (which,  though 
instinctive  in  its  nature,  is  probably  due,  not  to  any  specific 
play-instinct,  but  to  the  conjoint  operation  of  a  number  of 
instincts)  is  well-nigh  universal  among  young  animals,  in- 
cluding the  human ;  yet  it  falls  gradually  into  the  background 
as  childhood  and  youth  give  place  to  maturity,  and  exerts 
a  much  weaker  and  more  intermittent  influence  as  the  mind 
becomes  more  occupied  with  other  interests  and  pursuits. 

Again,  an  instinct  may  become  diverted  into  a  new  channel, 
or  be  directed  towards  a  new  object.  This  is  a  most  im- 
portant point  for  pedagogy.  It  is  a  fairly  safe  assumption 
that  most  instincts  are  bound  up  in  some  way  with  the  well- 
being  of  the  individual  and  of  the  race  to  which  he  belongs, 
but  it  is  not  a  safe  assumption  that  the  form  in  which  an 
instinct  expresses  itself  and  the  object  towards  which  it  is 
directed  are  such  as  to  be  conducive  to  that  well-being.  No 
doubt  much  of  the  evil  in  human  character  and  conduct  is 
due  to  the  perversion  of  instincts  which  in  their  proper  and 
normal  exercise  are  wholly  good.  There  is  scarcely  an  in- 
stinct which  may  not  be  thus  perverted.  The  instinct  to 
avoid  danger  may  develop  into  cowardice,  the  instinct  of 
pugnacity  into  the  bullying  and  quarrelsome  disposition;  the 
instincts  that  look  to  the  preservation  of  the  self  may  go  to 
seed  in  selfishness;  and  those  of  an  altruistic  bearing  may 
issue  in  a  character  that  is  easily  imposed  upon  and  deficient 
in  a  proper  self-respect. 

But,  fortunately,  if  instincts  may  be  perverted  into  lower 


INSTINCT  AND  HABIT  53 

channels,  they  may  also  be  diverted  into  higher.  The  in- 
stinct of  pugnacity  may  develop  the  disposition  that  is  ready 
to  defend  the  right  and  wage  war  against  the  wrong, 
wherever  found;  the  social  instincts  may  issue  in  noble  and 
beneficent  philanthropy.  That  instincts,  and  especially  hu- 
man instincts,  are  modifiable  in  both  directions,  and  that 
they  fade  out  with  disuse,  or  become  fixed  as  life-habits 
through  use  and  exercise,  these  are  fundamental  facts  with 
which  the  whole  theory  of  education  should  begin. 

6.  Most  instinctive  behavior  is  purposeful,  though  not 
purposive.  That  is  to  say,  it  serves  a  purpose  or  end,  and 
is  bound  up  with  the  well  being  of  the  individual  and  of  the 
species  to  which  he  belongs;  and  yet  that  purpose  or  end 
is  not  present  in  the  mind  of  the  individual  as  his  deliberate 
purpose  or  intention.  This  is  the  most  marked  difference 
between  actions  that  are  instinctive  and  actions  that  are 
volitional.  In  the  latter  alone  the  end  or  purpose  of  the 
act  is  present  in  the  mind  of  the  agent,  and  the  accomplish- 
ment of  that  end  or  purpose  is  his  motive  in  acting.  In- 
stinctive actions  serve  a  purpose,  but  are  not  performed  for 
that  reason.  Indeed,  in  so  far  as  instinctive,  they  are  not 
performed  for  any  reason,  but  are  the  outcome  of  causes 
lying  in  the  organism.  So  Professor  James  defines  instinct 
as  "  the  faculty  of  acting  in  such  a  way  as  to  produce  certain 
ends,  without  foresight  of  the  ends,  and  without  previous 
education  in  the  performance."  x  The  sucking  movements 
of  an  infant's  lips,  the  pecking  motions  of  a  newly-hatched 
chick,  and  the  behavior  of  a  hen  sitting  on  a  nestful  of  eggs, 
are  not  purposed,  though  they  serve  a  purpose. 

That  our  instincts  are  closely  connected  with  our  desires, 
volitions,  and  habits,  goes  without  saying.  Speaking 
broadly,  instinctive  reactions  are  in  line  with  desires,  and 
yield  some  measure  of  satisfaction.  Moreover,  a  reaction 
that  is  purely  instinctive  at  the  outset  may  be  developed 
later  through  consciousness  of  the  end  in  view  into  a  genu- 
ine desire,  issuing  in  voluntary  movement,  and  this  without 

i  James,  The  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II,  p.  383. 


54     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

altogether  eliminating  its  instinctive  features.  As  Pro- 
fessor Coe  puts  it,  the  instincts  are  not  outgrown  or  left  be- 
hind, but  are  developed,  and  taken  up  into  the  larger  scheme 
of  things.1  New  values  appear,  and  larger  interests  become 
involved,  but  the  instinctive  tendency  remains  a  feature  of 
the  situation.  The  gregarious  instinct  is  a  good  example 
of  this.  The  native  tendency  to  seek  the  society  of  others 
shows  itself  in  little  children  who  do  not  like  to  be  left 
alone;  in  young  people  who  form  clubs,  societies,  fratern- 
ities and  sororities;  and  in  social  philosophers  who  work 
out  comprehensive  schemes  for  the  furtherance  of  human 
brotherhood;  but  these  instances  show  to  what  different 
degrees  the  original  instinct  may  be  elaborated  by  reflection 
and  volition,  and  "  taken  up  into  the  larger  scheme  of 
things." 

We  have  seen  how  instincts  may  fade  out  through  disuse, 
or  be  broken  up  in  other  ways  and  disappear.  Where  this 
does  not  occur  the  instinct  is  likely  to  become  so  firmly 
rooted  that  its  total  expression  continues  to  be  certain  and 
regular.  Repeated  performance  of  the  instinctive  act  fixes 
still  more  firmly  in  the  organism  the  disposition  to  act  in 
that  particular  manner.  Thus  not  only  are  instinct  and 
habit  closely  similar  in  many  of  their  essential  features,  but 
the  former,  under  suitable  conditions,  develops  into  the 
latter;  and  a  large  part  of  our  everyday  behavior  is  partly 
instinctive  and  partly  habitual. 

As  for  the  classification  or  grouping  of  the  instincts,  this 
is  very  frequently  based  on  the  familiar  threefold  division 
of  the  psychic  life  into  feeling,  thought  and  will.  But  if 
we  are  right  in  saying  that  every  instinct  involves  cognitive, 
affective,  and  conative  elements,  it  is  hardly  possible  to  make 
a  clear  logical  classification  on  that  basis.  At  best  one 
could  put  into  one  group  those  instincts  in  which  the  ten- 
dency to  motor  reaction  is  the  chief  feature,  into  another 
those  that  involve  a  marked  degree  of  feeling,  and  into  a 

1  Coe,  The  Psychology  of  Religion,  Chicago,  1916,  p.  25.    See  also  Thorn- 
dike,  Elements  of  Psychology,  Ch.  XII. 


INSTINCT  AND  HABIT  55 

third  those  that  have  a  specially  pronounced  intellectual 
character.1 

As  a  simple  and  convenient  basis  for  the  study  of  the  in- 
stincts in  adolescent  life,  it  might  be  sufficient  to  keep  in 
view  the  principal  centers  of  interest,  round  which  the  ideas 
and  activities  of  the  individual  cluster,  and  in  which  the 
deepest  feelings  of  our  nature  are  rooted.  The  most  im- 
portant of  these,  I  should  say,  are  the  self  and  the  social 
order,  while  all  others  are  more  or  less  subordinate  to,  and 
dependent  on  these.  Admittedly,  however,  this  could  not  be 
the  basis  of  a  severely  rigid  division,  since  the  self-instincts 
and  the  social  instincts  (to  say  nothing  of  the  others)  dove- 
tail into  one  another  in  the  most  complicated  way,  both  in 
regard  to  the  conditions  that  call  them  forth,  and  the  ends 
that  are  served  in  their  expression.  Most  of  the  important 
instinctive  reactions,  especially  in  the  adolescent  period,  have 
reference  both  to  the  self  and  to  other  selves.  Yet  the 
classification  on  this  basis  gives  us  at  least  a  point  of  view 
for  the  study  of  the  subject. 

From  the  beginning  of  life  there  are  many  instinctive 
reactions  having  reference  to  the  self.  They  are  fitted,  in 
a  general  way,  to  preserve,  protect,  and  nourish  the  individ- 
ual organism.  Many  movements  involved  in  the  taking  of 
food,  such  as  sucking,  biting,  chewing,  are  instinctive. 
Others,  serving  the  purpose  of  protecting  the  organism 
against  what  is  injurious,  such  as  the  movements  of  ejecting 
bitter  or  disagreeable  substances  from  the  mouth,  are  equally 
so.  Practically  all  the  fear  reactions,  such  as  shrinking, 
crouching,  crying,  trembling,  hiding,  and  the  like,  may  also 
be  brought  under  this  head.  All  the  machinery  of  self- 
protection  springs  spontaneously  into  action  when  the  citadel 
of  the  self  is  in  any  way  threatened.  As  time  goes  on,  and 
the  conception  of  the  ego  becomes  more  enriched,  there 
come  into  play  many  fine  feelings  that  cluster  about  this 
conception;  and  the  native  reactions  calculated  to  feed  the 

!Cf.  Thistleton  Mark:  The  Unfolding  of  Personality,  Chicago,  1915,  Ch* 
III-V. 


56     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

physical  organism  and  protect  it  from  harm,  which  are  the 
most  conspicuous  forms  of  instinctive  behavior  in  childhood, 
are  supplemented  by  other  native  reactions,  calculated,  as 
it  were,  to  defend  the  citadel  of  the  moral  and  spiritual 
ego,  or  to  nourish  the  inner  life  of  thought  and  feeling. 
To  this  group  belong  all  the  reactions  of  modesty,  shame, 
and  the  instinctive  repugnance  to  letting  others  see  or  know 
too  much  about  the  self,  either  physical  or  spiritual;  the 
feeling  that  there  is  an  inner  sanctuary  to  which  the  pub- 
lic are  not  to  be  indiscriminately  admitted.  This  group  of 
instinctive  feelings,  of  which  the  lower  animals  show  little 
trace,  with  the  acts  by  which  they  are  expressed,  become 
greatly  developed  in  adolescence,  and  constitute  a  most 
potent  moral  safeguard,  and  a  powerful  deterrent  to  the 
more  deleterious  forms  of  vulgarity  and  vice.  It  is  quite 
true  that  this  innate  modesty  shows  itself  to  a  certain  extent 
even  in  early  childhood,  but  it  is  a  long  step  from  the  naive 
shyness  of  a  little  child  to  the  exceeding  sensitiveness  of  the 
youth  and  maiden  to  any  rude  invasion  of  the  sanctuary  of 
personality.  It  seems  to  me  that  this  adolescent  reserve 
is  a  priceless  moral  asset,  which  can  hardly  be  too  highly 
respected,  or  too  greatly  honored,  by  those  who  are  con- 
cerned with  the  welfare  of  youth. 

That  boys  and  girls  in  the  teens  usually  betray  a  pro- 
nounced accession  of  self-respect,  personal  pride,  jealousy 
over  their  own  reputation  among  their  companions,  and 
even  over  personal  matters  of  much  less  moment,  is  a  fact 
familiar  to  all  observers.  This  is  almost  as  much  a  social 
as  a  self  instinct,  for  the  two  develop  side  by  side  and  in 
reciprocal  relation.  Self-feelings  could  never  mature  ex- 
cept in  relation  to  other  selves;  and  the  social  feelings  would 
be  impossible  without  the  feelings  of  the  self.  So  youths 
and  maidens  are  sensitive  about  their  personal  appearance, 
their  clothing,  their  manners  and  speech,  showing  great 
dislike  for  shabby  or  unfashionable  attire,  and  great  dis- 
tress at  their  own  awkwardness  and  lack  of  ease  in  society, 
especially  the  society  of  persons  older  than  themselves, 


INSTINCT  AND  HABIT  57 

just  because  they  are  becoming  more  vividly  conscious  of 
personality,  both  in  themselves  and  in  others,  and  of  the 
relations  between  persons  in  the  social  order. 

Those  instincts  that  are  directly  rooted  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  self  take  two  chief  forms,  according  as  the  in- 
dividual feels  moved  to  self-appreciation  or  to  self-depre- 
ciation in  the  presence  of  other  persons  or  objects.  Pride, 
self-confidence,  elation,  self-display,  and  all  kindred  forms 
of  feeling  and  behavior  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other 
humility,  reticence,  self-distrust,  diffidence,  and  self-efface- 
ment, are  equally  products  of  the  heightened  consciousness 
of  selfhood  that  comes  in  the  youth  period.  Thus,  grow- 
ing out  from  the  single  root  of  self-consciousness,  there  are 
two  main  stems,  positive  and  negative  self-feeling,  as  Mc- 
Dougall  calls  them,1  each  with  many  branches.  Of  course 
it  is  a  commonplace  to  say  that  in  some  individuals  the  posi- 
tive self-feelings  predominate  over  the  negative,  while  in 
others  the  reverse  is  the  case.  History  teems  with  records 
of  the  boldness  and  self-assertion  of  young  men  in  their 
teens,  and  of  their  reckless  and  daring  exploits,  some  of 
which  have  resulted  in  great  good,  and  others  in  great  evil; 
but  it  also  furnishes  the  chronicle  of  many  acts  of  self-abase- 
ment, of  self-immolation,  and  of  sacrifice,  on  which  the  same 
double  comment  may  be  made.  Positive  self-feeling,  over- 
grown, has  given  the  world  its  despots  and  autocrats,  great 
and  small;  while  negative  self-feeling,  gone  to  excess,  has 
provided  these  despots  and  autocrats,  whether  in  the  tem- 
poral or  in  the  spiritual  realm,  with  hordes  of  willing  serfs, 
to  render  them  homage,  to  bow  the  neck  under  their  yoke,  to 
fight  and  die  that  they  may  gratify  their  pride  and  indulge 
their  passions.  On  the  other  hand  it  must  be  admitted  that 
the  healthy  development  of  positive  self-feeling  has  had 
much  to  do  with  the  world's  real  progress,  with  thwarting 
the  despots'  ambitions,  and  with  wringing  charters  of  liberty 
from  their  reluctant  hands;  while  negative  self-feeling,  in 
due  proportion,  is  the  explanation  of  many  of  the  noblest 

1  Introduction  to  Social  Psychology,  Ch.  III. 


58     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

deeds  that  men  have  done,  and  of  much  that  belongs  to  the 
higher  levels  of  human  attainment,  in  character  and  in 
purpose. 

Not  only  is  it  a  commonplace  to  say  that  in  some  persons 
the  instinct  of  self-assertion,  in  others  the  instinct  of  self- 
abasement,  is  usually  in  the  ascendant,  but  it  is  also  a  familiar 
fact  that  in  the  majority  of  us  there  is  a  certain  amount  of 
fluctuation  between  these,  the  one  or  the  other  getting  the 
upper  hand  for  the  time  being,  according  to  circumstances. 
And  this  is  specially  true  of  boys  and  girls  in  their  teens. 
There  are  times  when  modesty  and  sensitiveness  do  not 
appear  specially  conspicuous,  but  there  is  a  swagger  and  a 
bravado  that  appear  to  contradict  all  our  theories.  These 
things,  however,  may  be  taken  as  symptoms  of  the  instability 
of  the  individual  character  at  this  age,  when  settled  con- 
victions and  fixed  habits  of  conduct  are  not  yet.  No  true 
self-appraisement  has  yet  been  made;  no  matured  and  rea- 
soned judgment  as  to  one's  own  worth,  and  the  range  and 
quality  of  one's  own  powers,  has  yet  been  possible.  Feel- 
ing outruns  reflection;  and  feeling  is  peculiarly  liable  to  fluc- 
tuation. Opportunities  to  measure  oneself  against  others, 
or  to  test  oneself  in  the  face  of  trying  circumstances,  have 
not  yet  been  numerous.  The  child  has  lived  a  sheltered  life, 
and  in  many  cases  an  exaggerated  estimate  of  his  own  worth 
is  actually  fostered  in  him,  through  parental  affection.  The 
Public  School  usually  brings  a  certain  measure  of  disillusion- 
ment, and  the  High  School  still  more,  as  the  child  discovers 
that  there  are  other  children,  quite  his  equals,  and  perhaps 
his  superiors,  in  the  classroom  or  the  play-ground.  But  a 
still  more  complete  self-revelation  comes  to  him  at  College, 
or  in  the  world  of  business,  where  the  area  of  comparison 
is  so  much  wider,  and  the  tests  so  much  more  exacting. 
Now,  if  ever,  he  finds  his  true  level,  and  fits  himself  into  the 
place  he  is  to  fill  in  the  world. 

But  all  this  is  not  accomplished  without  some  shock  to  the 
sensibilities  of  the  self.  Any  temporary  success  elates,  and 
any  temporary  failure  depresses.  Self-assertion  and  self- 


INSTINCT  AND  HABIT  59 

abasement  alternate  with  each  other,  often  very  abruptly, 
and  with  violent  action  and  reaction.  Pride  and  vanity 
are  easily  flattered,  and  easily  wounded,  with  corresponding 
revulsions  of  feeling.  In  the  majority  of  us,  the  entire 
period  of  youth,  to  say  the  least,  is  required  for  anything 
approaching  a  due  measure  of  control  and  balance  in  refer- 
ence to  this  group  of  instinctive  tendencies. 

Positive  and  negative  self-feeling,  and  the  instincts  asso- 
ciated therewith,  rest  upon  the  value  or  worth  of  the  self, 
as  a  sort  of  tacit  postulate  or  presupposition.  The  fear 
instinct,  including  the  tendency  to  fly  away,  or  hide  from, 
or  seek  protection  from,  objects  that  seem  likely  to  harm 
the  self;  and  the  instinct  of  pugnacity,  which  shows  itself 
in  active  resistance  to  that  which  would  interfere  with  the 
purposes  and  activities  of  the  self,  have  their  basis  equally 
in  the  self-feeling.  Both  instincts  serve  the  interests  of  the 
self;  the  one  in  avoiding  injuries,  the  other  in  resisting  en- 
croachments; and  both  undergo  great  modifications  in  the 
transition  from  childhood,  through  youth,  to  maturity. 
Many  of  the  objects  which,  in  childhood,  called  into  play 
the  fear  instinct,  are  no  longer,  in  youth,  able  to  do  so;  nor 
does  the  instinct,  when  aroused,  quite  so  infallibly  take  the 
form  of  flight  and  hiding,  or  seeking  the  protection  of  other 
persons.  The  boy  of  fifteen  may  feel  very  much  afraid  of 
an  angry  dog,  just  as  a  little  child  does;  but  instead  of  fleeing 
for  refuge  to  the  nearest  adult,  he  seeks  his  own  means  of 
safety  or  defence.  The  instinct  of  pugnacity  acts  as  a 
counterpoise,  and  also  as  an  ally,  to  the  instinct  of  fear. 
The  instinct  cf  pugnacity  itself,  especially  in  the  case  of 
boys,  becomes  modified,  both  as  to  the  range  of  its  objects 
and  occasions,  and  as  to  the  manner  of  its  expression.  The 
pugnacity  of  a  child  takes  small  account  of  any  circum- 
stances bearing  on  the  motive  of  the  offensive  act.  The 
small  child  knows  but  little  of  motives,  and  of  the  relation- 
ships of  persons,  and  the  rights  and  obligations  growing  out 
of  such  relationships.  Physical  pain,  deprivation  of  toys 
or  other  possessions,  and  kindred  injuries,  arouse  directly 


6o     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

and  immediately  the  pugnacious  instinct,  irrespective  of  any 
considerations  lying  beneath  the  surface.  And  with  the  ces- 
sation of  the  pain,  or  the  restoration  of  the  lost  toy,  the 
pugnacious  mood  rapidly  subsides.  In  other  words  the 
instinct  is  aroused  by  any  obstruction  to  the  child's  will,  and 
subsides  with  the  removal  of  that  obstruction.  But  in 
youth  the  process  is  not  so  simple  or  so  direct.  Circum- 
stances more  far-reaching  are  taken  into  acount.  Motives, 
causes,  and  purposes  are  considered,  and  the  instinctive  re- 
action is  checked  and  modified  by  the  reason.  It  follows 
that  growing  youth  take  good-humoredly  many  things  that 
would  throw  a  child  into  paroxysms  of  anger;  while  they 
cherish  deep  and  lasting  resentment  over  injuries  by  which 
the  spirit  of  a  child  would  remain  Jotally  unaffected. 

The  social  instincts  are  the  correlative  and  the  comple- 
ment of  the  self-instincts,  and  the  two  groups  develop  to- 
gether, as  we  have  said. 

No  doubt  the  interest  in  other  persons  is  the  strongest  of 
all  human  interests,  save  only  that  which  centers  in  one's 
own  personality.  Man  is  by  nature  a  social  being.  Not 
only  does  he  need  the  society  of  his  fellows  in  view  of  his 
own  convenience  and  safety,  but,  as  Aristotle  so  wisely  re- 
marked, he  needs  that  society  to  provide  him  with  the  op- 
portunity of  unfolding  the  most  essential  qualities  of  his 
own  character,  and  to*  furnish  an  outlet  for  his  own  proper 
activities.  In  other  words,  man  does  not,  and  cannot,  fully 
realize  himself,  save  in  relation  to  his  social  environment. 
Accordingly,  interest  in  that  social  environment  shows  it- 
self very  early.  An  infant  of  a  few  weeks  will  notice  the 
difference  between  society  and  solitude,  and  show  his  un- 
easiness when  left  alone,  by  unmistakable  signs.  A  little 
child  looks  for  the  sympathetic  interest  of  others 
in  his  affairs,  promptly  reports  his  little  accidents  and  mis- 
haps to  them,  as  well  as  his  little  pleasures  and  successes, 
and  gives  every  evidence  of  finding  that  his  joys  are  multi- 
plied and  his  sorrows  divided  through  their  participation. 
This  social  need  finds  satisfaction,  not  only  in  the  presence 


INSTINCT  AND  HABIT  61 

of  adults,  but  also  in  that  of  other  children,  especially  of 
those  who  are  -nearly  of  the  same  age.  Even  as  I  write 
these,  words,  a  little  lad  of  eight,  who  yesterday  played  all 
day  in  the  happiest  fashion  with  another  child  of  about  his 
own  age,  sailing  toy  ships  on  the  little  stream  that  flows  by 
the  bottom  of  the  garden,  is  to-day  showing  every  sign  of 
loneliness,  and  has  not  once  gone  near  the  stream,  because 
the  little  companion  is  absent.  During  the  first  dozen  years 
of  life  this  interest  in  others  is  naive,  and  largely  unreflec- 
tive.  The  social  environment  is  taken  for  granted.  But 
as  childhood  gives  place  to  youth  it  takes  a  deeper  and 
stronger  hold  upon  the  emotions  and  ideas.  More  intimate 
and  lasting  friendships  are  formed.  The  most  permanent 
friendships,  in  fact,  are  those  formed  during  the  High 
School  and  College  periods.  Here  also,  more  noticeably 
than  elsewhere,  the  gregarious  instinct  shows  itself  in  the 
formation  of  clubs,  "  gangs,"  and  other  groups,  having  def- 
inite social  ends  in  view,  and  in  the  organization  of  "  teams  " 
for  the  various  forms  of  competitive  play. 

Few  things,  in  fact,  illustrate  more  clearly  the  growth  of 
the  social  consciousness  than  the  development  of  play 
through  childhood  and  youth  to  manhood.  The  very  young 
child  plays  alone,  absorbed  in  the  noise  of  his  rattle  or  the 
movements  of  his  ball,  and  in  the  way  in  which  his  own 
efforts  produce  effects  in  these  things.  If  he  plays  with 
other  children,  or  with  adults,  it  is  from  much  the  same 
point  of  view,  as  it  were.  These  other  persons  are  really 
so  many  things,  making  sounds  and  movements,  that  hold 
his  attention  and  amuse  him.  A  little  later,  in  the  Kinder- 
garten period,  these  other  persons  come  to  be  recognized  as 
such;  and  we  may  see  here,  in  a  small  way,  the  beginnings, 
both  of  the  idea  of  co-operation  and  of  the  idea  of  compe- 
tition in  play.  Both  these  ideas,  however,  are  fully  de- 
veloped only  in  later  periods.  In  the  boy-and-girl  period 
(say  from  the  eighth  to  the  twelfth  year)  they  make  con- 
siderable progress;  but  for  the  full  realization  of  competi- 
tion and  co-operation  together,  we  must  look  to  the  period 


62     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

of  youth.  Here  we  find  the  real  emergence  of  the  social 
consciousness  in  the  recognition  of  the  claims  of  the  social 
unit  and  the  obligation  resting  on  each  individual  to  be 
loyal  to  that  unit.  In  play  the  most  common  form  of  the 
social  unit  is  the  "  team,"  playing  a  match  against  another 
team.  Here  each  boy  regards  himself,  not  as  a  mere  in- 
dependent individual,  but  as  a  member  of  the  team.  In  the 
interests  of  the  team  his  interests  are  merged,  at  least  for 
the  time  being.  The  victory  of  the  team  is  his  glory,  and 
the  defeat  of  the  team  is  his  humiliation.  Long  courses 
of  severe  training,  with  much  self-denial,  are  cheerfully 
undergone,  not  for  any  personal  advantage,  but  in  the  in- 
terests of  the  social  unit.  The  value  of  all  this  in  reference 
to  the  building  of  character  and  the  cultivation  of  those  per- 
sonal qualities  that  make  for  the  highest  type  of  true  citizen- 
ship, is  potentially  very  great.  The  high  character  of  Brit- 
ish statesmanship  is  not  entirely  unconnected  with  the  cricket 
fields  attached  to  the  Schools  and  Colleges  of  Britain.  The 
pedagogic  bearings  of  the  subject  will  be  referred  to  in  our 
final  chapter. 

Little  need  be  said  here  regarding  the  theory  or  philos- 
ophy of  play  in  general.  By  some  writers  play  is  explained 
as  a  means  of  draining  off  superabundant  nervous  energy. 
This  is  no  doubt  partly  true,  but  it  does  not  account  for  the 
fact  that  play  often  acts  as  a  recuperative  force,  restoring 
nervous  energy  to  tired  people  who  have  used  up  all  their 
surplus,  nor  for  the  fact  that  in  other  cases  play  is  persisted 
in  to  the  point  of  utter  exhaustion.  By  others  play  is  ex- 
plained by  reference  to  the  theory  of  Recapitulation.  But 
the  theory  itself  is  open  to  many  objections,  chief  among 
which  is  this,  that  we  have  no  proof,  either  that  the  race 
has  passed  through  "  culture-epochs  "  with  that  uniformity 
and  definiteness  required  by  the  theory,  or  that,  if  it  had,  the 
child  of  the  present  day  must  of  necessity  retraverse  and 
recapitulate  that  process  in  his  play.  Others,  in  explaining 
play,  look  to  the  future  rather  than  to  the  past,  taking  the 
teleologic  instead  of  the  atavistic  viewpoint,  and  regard  the 


INSTINCT  AND  HABIT  63 

play  of  children  and  young  animals  as  a  preparation  for 
life's  serious  business,  rather  than  an  echo  of  the  racial  ac- 
tivities of  past  generations.  There  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind 
as  to  the  teleologic  value  of  play;  and  perhaps  it  is  hardly 
necessary  to  point  out  that  the  word  "  teleologic  "  here 
should  not  be  taken  to  mean  that  the  purpose  of  play  is 
present  as  an  idea  in  the  mind  of  him  who  plays  (which 
would  be  inconsistent  with  that  which  is  most  characteristic 
of  true  play,  viz.,  its  disinterestedness  and  freedom  from 
ulterior  aims)  but  only  that  play  does,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
serve  the  purpose  referred  to.  This  theory,  however, 
scarcely  accounts  for  the  plays  and  sports  of  adults  and  per- 
sons advanced  in  years,  whose  play  is  rather  a  relaxation 
from,  than  a  preparation  for,  the  serious  business  of  life. 

The  simplest  explanation  of  play  seems  to  be  this:  the 
active  use  of  all  the  powers,  of  mind  and  body,  is  in  itself 
intrinsically  pleasant,  under  normal  conditions,  apart  from 
the  ends  aimed  at  in  those  activities.  To  gratify  innate 
proclivities  and  tendencies  is  also  in  itself  pleasant.  Given 
a  psycho-physical  organism,  endowed  with  all  manner  of 
powers  and  energies,  nothing  is  more  natural  than  that  those 
energies  should  be  used,  instead  of  being  inhibited  and 
forced  to  remain  inactive.  "  With  the  presence  of  a  cer- 
tain organ  goes,  one  may  say,  almost  always  a  native  apti- 
tude for  its  use."  *  It  follows  that  children  and  young 
animals  are,  as  a  rule,  active  and  energetic.  The  general 
nature  of  their  activities  is  determined  by  several  factors, 
one  of  which  is  the  negative  circumstance  that  the  mind  at 
that  age  is  incapable  of  those  far-reaching  ideas  and  pur- 
poses that  lie  at  the  basis  of  whatever  difference  there  is 
between  play  and  work.  In  play  the  interest  is  simple,  di- 
rect, and  intrinsic;  in  work  it  is  complex,  indirect,  and 
ulterior.  The  interests  of  children  are  of  the  former  type 
only;  hence  children  play,  but  do  not  work. 

Another  factor  in  determining  some  of  the  principal  forms 
of  play  is  the  inborn  tendency  to  imitation.  Much  of  the 
i  James,  The  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  Ch.  XXIV. 


64     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

play  of  young  children  especially  takes  the  form  of  repro- 
duction of  the  observed  activities  of  older  persons  about 
them.  The  farmer's  child,  who  plays  at  plowing,  sowing 
and  reaping,  illustrates  both  facts;  his  movements  are  imita- 
tive, and  his  interest  in  what  he  is  doing  is  simple,  direct, 
and  instrinsic.  The  movements  themselves,  rather  than 
any  far-away  results  of  those  movements,  constitute  the  in- 
terest and  the  fascination  of  his  play. 

To  say  this  is  not  to  deny  the  teleologic  character  of 
play,  but  only  to  say  that  the  ultimate  ends  (skill  in  vari- 
ous activities  and  movements,  and  in  a  word,  preparation 
for  life's  serious  business)  are  not  present  as  ideas  and  mo- 
tives in  the  mind  of  the  player.  That  the  play  of  children 
does,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  serve  as  a  factor  in  the  preparation 
for  life,  is  to  my  mind  overwhelmingly  clear,  and  in  this 
sense  play  is  teleologic  in  its  nature. 

In  the  play  of  adolescents  the  element  of  imitation  figures 
less  prominently,  but  the  other  factors,  the  disposition  to 
give  rein  to  all  the  energies  and  powers,  physical  and  mental, 
and  the  simplicity  and  directness  of  the  interest  evoked, 
maintain  their  strength.  The  imitation  impulse  is  supple- 
mented, and  partly  supplanted,  by  construction,  and  the 
working  out  of  original  ideas.  And  further,  as  already 
pointed  out,  co-operation  and  competition,  with  social  unit 
pitted  against  social  unit  in  team  sport,  becomes  a  most 
pronounced  feature  of  adolescent  play. 

The  sexual  and  parental  instincts,  though  among  the  most 
powerful  of  the  factors  that  condition  the  unfolding  of  the 
social  consciousness,  exert  but  little  influence  in  childhood; 
the  parental  chiefly  in  the  case  of  little  girls,  who  play  with 
dolls,  and  frequently  betray  a  fondness  for  real  babies.  In 
the  teens,  with  the  unfolding  and  maturation  of  the  sexual 
and  parental  capacities,  these  instincts  make  themselves  felt 
in  a  most  powerful  manner,  especially  the  sex  instinct,  which, 
in  the  case  of  boys  at  least,  seems  to  overshadow  the  other 
for  the  time  being  and  keep  it  in  abeyance.  This  is  one 
of  the  best  examples  of  an  instinct  which,  though  genuinely 


INSTINCT  AND  HABIT  65 

innate,  does  not  show  itself  at  once,  but  awaits  the  time 
when  the  conditions  essential  to  its  expression  are  realized. 
It  goes  without  saying  that  the  emotions  arising  out  of  the 
facts  and  relations  of  sex  are  among  the  most  powerful 
with  which  man  is  endowed.  The  whole  subject  is  of  such 
importance,  especially  in  regard  to  the  period  of  youth,  that 
it  has  been  thought  well  to  devote  an  entire  chapter  to  its 
discussion.1  Further  remarks  need  not,  therefore,  be  added 
here. 

Aside,  however,  from  all  questions  of  sex,  the  social  in- 
stinct reveals  itself  in  youth  in  another  way.  There  is  a 
greatly  increased  interest  in,  and  often  a  greatly  augmented 
respect  for,  adult  companionship  and  adult  opinion.  The 
future  begins  to  impress  itself  upon  the  boy  or  girl;  and 
with  that  new  interest  in  what  the  future  may  have  in  store 
for  him  or  her,  there  comes  also  a  new  interest  in  the  doings 
and  sayings  of  those  who  have  already  reached  adult  life. 
The  adolescent  has  great  interest  in  his  elders.  He  may  set 
up  some  adult  friend  or  relative  as  a  sort  of  model,  after 
whom  to  fashion  his  own  life.  Consciously  or  unconsciously 
he  imitates,  to  a  greater  or  less  degree,  the  speech  and  man- 
ners of  this  adult  friend.  Even  though  he  may  make  an 
extravagant  show  of  independence  of  all  adult  models,  and 
of  all  adult  counsel,  he  is  still  swayed  by  a  secret  conviction 
of  their  wider  experience  and  superior  wisdom.  Usually 
the  parents  stand  first  in  this  matter  of  personal  influence, 
with  the  teacher  a  fairly  close  second.  Admiration,  per- 
sonal attachment,  and  hero-worship,  may  reach  extravagant 
proportions;  and  there  may  be  noticed  an  interesting  con- 
trast between  the  feeling  of  self-elation  in  reference  to  those 
who  are  younger  and  smaller,  and  the  feeling  of  self-abase- 
ment in  reference  to  those  who  are  older,  and  presumably 
stronger  and  wiser  than  himself. 

Some  writers  have  spoken  of  a  religious  instinct;  but  it 
is  now  generally  agreed  that  the  religious  feelings  are  com- 
plex emotions,  made  up  of  wonder,  awe,  reverence,  and  nega- 

iSee  Ch.  X.  infra. 


tive  self-feeling,  and  that  religion  is  based,  not  on  a  single 
instinct,  but  on  several.  Some  attempt  will  be  made  in  a 
later  chapter,1  to  analyse  the  religious  consciousness,  par- 
ticularly of  adolescence,  so  as  to  show  how  native  instincts 
enter  into  its  structure. 

In  addition  to  those  forms  of  instinctive  reaction  referred 
to  in  the  foregoing,  there  are  others  that  are  called  forth 
by  certain  qualities  in  the  objects  and  situations  incident  to 
everyday  experience.  Among  these  are  the  instincts  of 
curiosity,  repulsion,  acquisition,  and  construction,  all  of 
which  have  a  good  deal  in  common.  The  instincts  of  curi- 
osity, acquisition,  and  construction  may  be  observed  in  opera- 
tion from  early  infancy.  The  inborn  disposition  to  move 
the  muscles  finds  its  external  stimulus  and  its  satisfaction  in 
all  sorts  of  objects,  which  can  be  handled  and  pulled  about 
in  all  sorts  of  ways.  This  disposition  remains  throughout 
life,  but  the  merely  instinctive  aspect  of  it  becomes  overlaid 
with  conscious  purpose  and  more  or  less  fixed  habits.  From 
a  very  early  age  the  instinct  of  acquisition  or  possession  may 
be  seen  in  operation,  notably  in  the  collections  so  character- 
istic of  most  children,  and  particularly  strong  at  about  ten 
years  of  age.  The  most  important  feature  in  the  develop- 
ment of  these  instincts  is  the  increasing  role  of  the  idea  of 
purpose  in  the  making  of  the  collections,  and,  along  with 
this,  clearer  notions  of  classification.  Young  children  collect 
things  without  any  definite  end  in  view,  and  hoard  them  up 
without  any  definite  order  or  system.  The  idea  of  posses- 
sion is  now  seen  in  its  most  primitive  form.  Possession 
means  getting  hold  of  a  thing  (it  scarcely  matters  what) 
for  the  time  being.  A  few  moments  later  all  thought  or 
care  about  this  particular  thing  may  have  vanished,  though 
at  the  time  the  child  would  have  made  vociferous  protest 
against  its  removal  from  his  grasp.  From  infancy  to 
adolescence  there  is  a  steady  development  of  the  concep- 
tion of  ownership,  and  that  which  is  mine  becomes  sharply 
distinguished  from  that  which  is  not  mine.  Yet  there  is 
iSee  Ch.  XIII  infra. 


INSTINCT  AND  HABIT  67 

still  but  small  appreciation  of  anything  like  values,  either 
monetary  or  otherwise.  During  adolescence  the  idea  of 
possession  becomes  enriched  by  the  notion  of  value  in  the 
thing  possessed.  And  such  value  may  include  more  than 
mere  money  value.  Not  only  does  the  young  adolescent  be- 
gin to  acquire  some  conception  of  the  purchasing  power  of 
money,  and  of  the  cash  equivalents  of  many  of  his  posses- 
sions, but  he  also  begins  to  apprehend  other  and  deeper 
standards  of  valuation.  A  book,  for  example,  may  now  be 
prized,  not  merely  as  an  attractively  colored  object,  as  with 
a  child,  nor  merely  as  a  thing  which  is  mine  and  not  yours, 
as  with  a  little  boy  or  girl,  nor  merely  because  it  cost  such 
and  such  a  sum  of  money,  but,  what  is  more  important,  for 
the  literary  value  of  its  contents,  or  for  the  message  which 
it  speaks  to  the  soul  of  its  reader. 

Curiosity,  or  the  desire  to  know  the  nature  of  objects, 
rests  upon  an  instinctive  tendency  that  comes  into  operation 
in  early  infancy.  Little  children  are  fascinated  by  new 
objects,  stare  at  them,  and,  unless  the  fear  instinct  acts  as 
a  deterrent,  pull  them  about  and  try  to  take  them  to  pieces. 
Later  they  ask  numberless  questions  as  to  the  nature  and 
uses  of  these  things.  In  youth  this  native  instinct  becomes 
developed  into  a  keen  and  active  interest  in  all  manner  of 
things,  including  the  processes  of  nature  and  the  products 
of  the  inventive  genius  of  man.  I  have  in  mind  a  case, 
typical  of  many,  where  the  interest  in  electricity,  with  all  that 
pertains  to  it  and  all  that  can  be  achieved  by  means  of  it, 
began  to  develop  before  the  end  of  the  period  of  childhood, 
and  has  continued  to  be  an  absorbing  passion  throughout  the 
period  of  youth,  as  it  probably  will  continue  to  be  through 
the  whole  of  life.  Transformed  by  the  powers  of  reflec- 
tion, and  "  taken  up  into  the  larger  scheme  of  things,"  this 
native  instinct  of  curiosity  becomes  the  mainspring  of  all 
scientific  investigation,  of  all  discovery  and  invention,  in  all 
the  realms  of  thought  and  action  open  to  man. 

In  the  period  of  boyhood  (from  eight  to  twelve)  the 
instinct  of  curiosity  becomes  greatly  reinforced  by  the  in- 


68     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

stinct  of  construction,  when  things  are  used  as  materials  and 
tools  in  the  making  of  other  things.  In  the  adolescent 
period  all  these  instinctive  actions  still  persist,  though  taking 
on  new  forms,  and  involving  many  new  objects  and  many 
new  uses  of  those  objects.  Moreover,  as  in  all  other  cases, 
the  instinct  itself  becomes  more  or  less  merged  in  the  rea- 
son; and  thus  primitive  curiosity  becomes  purposive  and  in- 
telligent investigation;  inquisitiveness  is  more  methodical, 
the  youth  demands  more  adequate  answers  to  his  questions, 
not  being  any  longer  content  with  mere  general  statements 
or  loose  analogies;  while  construction  takes  on  a  much 
wider  range,  and  is  undertaken  for  more  remote  and  far- 
reaching  ends.  The  constructions  of  the  adolescent  are  of 
a  far  more  permanent  and  purposive  character  than  are 
those  of  the  child.  Things  now  begin  to  be  used  in  ways 
that  involve  a  reference  to  the  whole  purpose  of  life,  and 
the  place  of  the  things  in  the  realization  of  that  purpose. 

The  instinct  of  repulsion,  with  the  feeling  of  disgust  for 
certain  objects,  is  one  of  those  native  tendencies  which  come 
out  most  strongly  in  the  youth  period.  Little  children  are 
notoriously  obtuse  and  indifferent  with  regard  to  many 
tastes,  odors,  and  touch  sensations,  which  at  a  later  age 
awaken  the  most  poignant  feelings  of  disgust.  Adolescence, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  extremely  sensitive  to  these  things. 
To  come  into  contact,  through  any  of  the  senses,  with  slimy 
or  slippery  substances,  with  decayed  fruit  or  vegetables, 
with  dead  animals,  or  with  filth  in  any  form,  causes  intense 
discomfort  and  strong  repugnance;  though  many  marvel- 
lous inconsistencies  may  be  found.  I  have  known  boys  of 
fifteen  who  could  not  bear  to  look  on  while  an  inflamed  eye 
was  being  bathed  with  boracic  acid,  but  who  would  carry 
and  use  a  pocket  handkerchief  until  it  was  soiled  almost  be- 
yond recognition  or  description. 

It  will  be  clear,  even  from  this  brief  and  imperfect  dis- 
cussion of  the  instincts,  first,  that  these  innate  tendencies 
are  of  the  highest  conce'r*able  importance  in  human  life, 
practically  determining,  in  a  general  way  at  least,  the  main 


INSTINCT  AND  HABIT  69 

lines  of  its  development;  and  secondly,  that  among  the 
instincts,  some  that  are  of  the  greatest  significance  for  the 
life  of  the  race,  come  for  the  first  time  into  operation  and 
make  themselves  felt  as  forces  in  individual  conduct,  in  the 
period  of  adolescence. 


CHAPTER  VI 

EMOTION,    OR  THE    CAPACITY  TO    FEEL 

There  is  no  phase  of  our  inner  experience  more  easy  to 
imagine,  more  difficult  to  describe,  than  the  feeling  phase. 
It  lends  itself  less  readily  to  definition,  or  to  any  sort  of 
verbal  formulation,  than  either  the  cognitive  or  the  cona- 
tive  features  of  consciousness.  Yet  it  is  deeply  rooted  in 
the  subsoil  of  the  mental  life,  and  it  conditions  and  qualifies, 
often  in  the  most  pronounced  fashion,  all  the  movements  of 
intellection  and  conation. 

It  is  particularly  difficult  to  write  with  any  fulness  on  the 
subject  of  the  emotions  taken  by  themselves,  and  apart  from 
the  objects  that  cause  them  and  the  movements  by  which 
they  are  expressed.  Psychology,  apparently,  has  no  vocab- 
ulary suited  to  this  task.  What  would  one  say,  for  exam- 
ple, of  the  feeling  of  anger,  apart  from  the  objects  and  cir- 
cumstances that  arouse  this  feeling  in  the  mind,  and  the 
words,  gestures,  changes  of  color,  and  the  like,  by  which 
the  angry  person  betrays  his  inner  state  to  the  onlooker? 
Beyond  question  the  feeling  is  something  real,  apart  from 
these;  it  is  to  be  identified,  neither  with  its  cause  nor  with 
its  outcome;  but  to  express  what  it  is  in  itself,  as  a  purely 
psychic  experience,  is  exceedingly  difficult,  if  not  altogether 
impossible. 

The  causes  of  our  feelings  are  many  and  various,  includ- 
ing bodily  conditions,  sensuous  experiences,  pleasant  or  pain- 
ful, ideas,  beliefs,  convictions,  or  other  intellectual  contents; 
and  the  expression  of  our  feelings  is  accomplished  by  means 
of  words,  gestures,  and  other  movements,  most,  if  not  all 
of  which,  are  in  the  first  instance  instinctive.  All  the  causes 
and  consequences  of  feeling,  therefore,  belong  outside  the 
realm  of  feeling  (except  in  so  far  as  one  feeling  may  be  the 

TO 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  FEEL  71 

cause  or  the  effect  of  another)  and  so  a  full  account  of  the 
feelings  involves  much  else  besides  the  feelings  themselves. 

In  the  chapter  on  Instinct  a  good  deal  has  been  said  of 
the  simpler  emotions,  as  was  inevitable,  on  account  of  their 
intimate  association  with  instinct  in  actual  experience;  con- 
sequently the  treatment  here  may  be  briefer  than  it  could 
otherwise  be.  In  fact,  the  relation  between  the  primary 
instincts  and  the  simpler  emotions  is  so  close  that  they  are 
really  different  phases  of  the  same  thing,  rather  than  differ- 
ent things;  and  the  suggestion  has  been  made  that  they 
should  be  represented  by  the  compound  term  "  instinct- 
feeling,"  instead  of  by  separate  names.1 

Feeling  would  appear  to  be  more  primitive  and  funda- 
mental than  intellectual  activity,  to  develop  earlier  in  man, 
and  to  be  more  widely  distributed  among  organized  beings 
generally.  Many  organisms  that  possess  little  or  nothing 
of  what  might  be  called  cognitive  experience  are  capable  of 
feeling,  at  least  in  some  of  its  simplest  forms.  It  consti- 
tutes the  tone,  or  affective  quality,  of  all  mental  states,  and 
has  important  bearings  on  the  course  of  our  ideas  and  the 
character  of  our  volitional  reactions. 

Physiologically,  feeling  appears  to  be  connected  more 
closely  than  ideation  with  the  sympathetic  nerve  system, 
and  by  this  connexion  it  becomes  delicately  responsive  to  the 
general  condition  of  the  organism  as  a  whole.  It  is  closely 
related  also  to  the  cerebro-spinal  system,  but  this  relation 
obtains  indirectly,  through  the  processes  of  ideation,  rather 
than  directly,  except  in  so  far  as  all  conditions  of  the  organ- 
ism, including  those  of  the  nerves,  exercise  a  certain  direct 
influence  upon  the  state  of  the  feelings. 

Feeling  is  liable  to  all  manner  of  fluctuations,  both  in 

1 "  I  have  suggested  that  we  use  the  term  '  instinct-feelings '  to  indi- 
cate the  conscious  coincidents  of  the  animal  activities  we  call  instinctive; 
and  I  have  endeavored  to  show  that  when  these  instinct  actions  are  rela- 
tively fixed  and  forceful,  then  their  coincident  instinct  feelings  gain  names, 
and  form  the  class  of  psychic  states  known  as  the  emotions."  (H.  Rutgers 
Marshall  in  Nature,  Vol.  LII,  quoted  by  Lloyd  Morgan,  in  Habit  and  In- 
ttinct,  p.  192.) 


72     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

quality  and  in  intensity;  and  these  fluctuations ~are  due  to 
a  great  variety  of  causes,  ranging  all  the  way  from  some 
special  condition  of  the  physical  organism  to  some  specific 
operation  of  the  intellectual  or  volitional  powers.  The  feel- 
ing tone,  even  in  the  most  stolid  among  us,  is  perhaps  the 
one  thing  in  us  that  is  specially  susceptible  to  the  influence  of 
slight  and  transient  causes. 

The  words  "  feeling  "  and  "  emotion  "  are  commonly 
used  without  any  very  clear  distinction  of  meaning;  and 
perhaps  no  very  radical  separation  of  the  two  is  possible. 
It  has  long  been  the  writer's  habit  to  use  the  word  "  feel- 
ing "  in  a  broad  general  sense,  to  cover  the  entire  field  of 
our  affective  consciousness,  reserving  the  word  "  emotion  " 
to  signify,  within  this  wide  field,  those  feelings  that  are  con- 
ditioned upon,  and  determined  by,  the  more  definite  opera- 
tions of  the  intellect.  The  difference  may  be  one  of  degree, 
rather  than  of  kind;  but  at  all  events  it  serves  very  well  to 
distinguish  such  feelings,  let  us  say,  as  are  experienced  by  an 
infant  who  shrinks  back  at  the  approach  of  a  stranger,  from 
those  of  an  adult  who  ponders  upon  some  great  moral 
wrong,  or  who  considers  ways  and  means  of  accomplishing 
some  great  moral  reform.  Feeling  in  every  case  is  the  af- 
fective element  in  a  state  of  consciousness;  but  if  that  state 
of  consciousness  is  a  very  simple  perception,  or  a  primitive 
impulse,  the  affective  element  is  simply  feeling;  whereas  if 
it  involves  some  of  the  higher  forms  of  conception  and  judg- 
ment, the  affective  element  is  emotion  proper.  No  special 
plea  is  made  for  this  use  of  the  two  terms,  except  that  it 
has  been  found  somewhat  serviceable  in  the  effort  to  think 
clearly  on  a  rather  obscure  subject. 

Within  the  meaning  of  the  terms  "  feeling  "  and  "  emo- 
tion "  certain  useful  distinctions  have  lately  been  drawn  by 
psychologists.  The  Primary  emotions  have  been  carefully 
distinguished  from  the  Secondary  or  complex  emotional 
states;  l  and  it  is  pointed  out  that  the  really  primary  and 

1  See  McDougall,  Social  Psychology,  Chs.  Ill  and  V. 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  FEEL  73 

simple  emotions  ("  feelings"  they  would  be,  according  to 
the  use  of  the  terms  explained  above)  are  comparatively 
few  in  number,  and  are  connected,  each  to  each,  with  the 
more  important  and  powerful  instincts,  of  which  they  con- 
stitute the  affective  quality.  Thus  the  emotion  of  fear  is 
the  affective  quality  of  the  instinct  of  flight;  the  emotion 
of  disgust  is  similarly  related  to  the  instinct  of  repulsion; 
the  emotion  of  anger  to  the  instinct  of  pugnacity,  and  so 
on.  The  Primary  emotions  are  experienced  in  their  pure 
form  by  the  lower  animals ;  less  commonly  by  human  beings, 
except  very  young  children.  The  emotions  of  human  beings 
generally  are  of  a  more  complex  kind,  arising  from  the  con- 
current excitement  of  more  than  one  instinctive  disposition, 
as  well  as  coming  under  the  modifying  influence  of  the  intel- 
lectual powers.  Many  of  the  feelings  that  are  usually 
styled  emotions  are  spoken  of  by  McDougall  as  sentiments, 
a  sentiment  being  defined  as  "  an  organized  system  of  emo- 
tional tendencies  centered  about  some  object."  Love  and 
hate  are  sentiments  rather  than  emotions,  since  the  feeling 
tendencies  have  become  systematized  and  organized  with 
reference  to  an  object,  or  class  of  objects,  to  be  loved  or 
hated  as  the  case  may  be.  In  the  absence  of  such  organiza- 
tion, with  the  object  as  a  thought-construct  and  not  merely 
a  perception,  there  could  hardly  be  a  sentiment  in  the  proper 
sense,  though  there  might  be  simple  or  primary  emotions  in 
abundance. 

It  will  be  obvious  that,  according  to  the  view  here  taken, 
the  emotions,  or  at  all  events  the  more  complex  emotions, 
rest  upon  and  are  determined  by,  the  activities  of  cognition. 
Ideas  in  consciousness  give  rise  to  feelings,  and  these  in 
turn  find  vent  in  various  forms  of  bodily  expression,  such 
as  gestures  and  other  muscular  movements.  The  order  is 
this, —  first  the  mental  perception,  then  the  mental  affec- 
tion, and  finally  the  outward  or  physical  expression.  Ac- 
cording to  the  opinion  of  some  authorities,  however,  this 
physical  expression,  at  least  in  the  case  of  the  simpler  feel- 


74 

ings,  comes  between  the  mental  perception  and  the  mental 
affection ;  so  that  "  we  feel  sorry  because  we  cry,  angry 
because  we  strike,  afraid  because  we  tremble,"  *  instead 
of  crying  because  we  feel  sorry,  striking  because  we  feel 
angry,  and  trembling  because  we  feel  afraid.  The  plain 
facts  of  experience,  however,  appear  to  stand  in  the 
way  of  the  theory,  and  to  do  so  most  obviously  in  the 
case  of  those  very  feelings  that  are  cited  in  its  support. 
At  least  it  constantly  happens  that  a  mental  perception 
is  followed  by  a  mental  affection,  and  there  may  or  may 
not  supervene  upon  these  a  bodily  expression.  It  should, 
however,  be  clearly  recognized,  that  impressions  and  ex- 
pressions, of  various  sorts,  have  become,  through  long 
association  in  racial  experience,  so  closely  connected  that 
the  appropriate  motor  discharge  tends  to  follow  habit- 
ually and  almost  automatically  upon  the  impression,  the 
entire  process,  sensory  and  motor,  exerting  its  appropriate 
influence  upon  the  sources  of  feeling,  and  leading  to 
the  appropriate  feeling  responses.  In  this  way,  no  doubt, 
there  are  formed,  between  certain  mental  perceptions  and 
certain  motor  reactions,  links  of  association  so  strong  that 
the  latter  follow  upon  the  former  with  mechanical  prompt- 
ness and  regularity.  It  is  also  beyond  question  that  every 
sort  of  psychic  process  tends  to  have  its  own  feeling  ac- 
companiment, whether  that  process  be  ingoing  or  outgoing; 
and  therefore,  if  the  feeling  of  anger  and  the  act  of  striking 
have  been  associated  sufficiently  often  to  set  up  a  habit,  then 
whichever  of  these  should  happen  to  occur,  it  will  be  likely 
to  bring  up  the  other.  The  feeling  of  anger  will  tend  to  ex- 
press itself  in  the  motor  process  .of  striking;  and  conversely, 
if  in  any  way,  or  through  any  cause  whatever,  the  attitude 
of  striking  should  be  assumed,  the  feeling  of  anger  may  be 
experienced  in  greater  or  lesser  degree.  In  other  words, 
states  that  have  been  often  in  consciousness  together  tend 
to  recur  together;  or,  if  either  of  these  states  should  recur 
the  other  is  likely  to  recur  also.  This  is  simply  one  form 

i  James,  The  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol  II,  Ch.  XXIV. 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  FEEL  75 

of  the  familiar  principle  of  association,  and  the  facts  by 
which  it  is  illustrated  and  verified,  though  highly  interesting 
and  important  as  psychical  facts,  do  not  seem  to  me  to  war- 
rant the  conclusion  that  the  order  in  which  the  associated 
processes  arise  is  always  the  same;  that  the  movement  al- 
ways leads  to  the  feeling,  while  the  feeling  never  leads  to  the 
movement. 

The  more  complex  emotions,  such  as  admiration,  awe, 
reverence,  gratitude,  scorn,  contempt,  hatred,  joy,  grief, 
pity,  shame,  as  well  as  the  aesthetic  feelings,  and  the  senti- 
ments of  moral  approval  and  disapproval,  are  hardly  pos- 
sible in  any  well-developed  forms  in  early  childhood,  on 
account  of  their  complexity,  which  means,  here,  their  de- 
pendence on  the  organization  of  the  instincts  about  cer- 
tain centers  of  apperception,  a  process  requiring  time  and  ex- 
perience. Young  children  are  moved  directly  by  the 
primary  instincts,  and  the  feeling  phase  of  their  instinctive 
behavior  is  constituted  by  the  simple  emotions  of  fear,  re- 
pulsion, anger,  and  the  like.  These  simple  emotions  may  be 
very  intense  while  they  last;  indeed  they  may  have  any  de- 
gree of  intensity;  but  they  do  not  share  in  the  characteristics 
of  the  higher  emotions,  through  lack  of  that  experience  and 
mental  power  which  are  indispensable  to  those  higher  emo- 
tions. Especially  do  they  lack  the  foundations  provided  by 
the  organized  sentiments;  for  it  is  exactly  this  organization 
of  the  emotional  tendencies  about  certain  objects  that  is 
wanting  in  the  life  of  early  childhood. 

But  youth  brings  with  it  the  capacity  for  these  higher  and 
more  complex  feelings.  It  goes  almost  without  saying  that 
youth  is  a  time  of  deep  and  strong  emotion.  This  is  per- 
haps its  most  conspicuous  feature.  The  adolescent  craves 
for  emotional  experience  almost  as  much  as  for  food  and 
drink.  The  earlier  part  of  the  period,  up  to  the  i6th  or 
1 7th  year,  is  specially  characterized  by  this  capacity  to  feel 
and  this  craving  for  feeling  stimuli.  This  it  is  that,  in  con- 
junction with  the  need  of  muscular  activity,  accounts  for 
much  of  the  restlessness  of  youth.  In  the  later  years  of  the 


76     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

period  the  tides  of  feeling  are  somewhat  better  regulated, 
and  their  ebb  and  flow  are  just  a  shade  more  sober  and 
steady;  not  because  feeling  itself  is  any  less  strong,  but  be- 
cause it  has  become  subject  in  a  larger  measure  than  before 
to  the  control  of  the  higher  thought  powers. 

This  marked  development  of  the  emotional  nature  in 
adolescence  is  commonly  attributed  to  the  unfolding  of  the 
sex  functions,  and  this  is  no  doubt  one  of  its  most  important 
conditions.  But  it  is  not  the  only  one,  for,  as  we  have  seen, 
there  occurs  now  an  expansion  all  round,  affecting  not  only 
the  growth  and  organization  of  the  body,  including  the  brain 
and  nerves,  but  also  the  intellectual  capacities,  and  various 
forms  of  power  and  energy;  and  all  this  expansion  liberates 
fresh  tides  of  feeling.  Sexual  development,  while  no  doubt 
very  central  and  potent  in  it  all,  is  neither  the  sole  cause  of 
the  quickening  of  the  emotional  nature,  nor  does  it  pro- 
vide the  only  objects  by  which  the  emotions  may  be  stirred. 
Indeed,  as  has  been  remarked  by  more  than  one  writer,  if 
the  emotional  life  of  the  teens  should  become  too  much 
centered  about  the  sexual  capacities  the  condition  must  be 
regarded  as  abnormal.  Nothing  can  be  more  important  and 
necessary  than  the  diffusion  of  the  forces  of  feeling  by  open- 
ing up  to  them  as  many  legitimate  channels  as  possible; 
and  few  things  could  be  more  disastrous  than  the  concen- 
tration of  the  emotional  energies  upon  any  limited  number 
of  apperception  fields,  whether  the  sexual  field  or  any  other. 
But  perhaps  the  most  dangerous  concentration  of  all  would 
be  that  which  has  the  sexual  life  as  its  focus. 

A  prime  factor  in  the  deepening  of  the  life  of  feeling  is 
the  expansion  of  the  intellectual  powers,  and  the  unfolding 
of  the  capacities  of  judgment  and  reflection.  In  youth  one 
is  better  able  than  in  childhood  to  comprehend  the  inner 
meaning  of  the  various  social  relationships  in  which  he 
stands,  such  as  his  relation  to  the  members  of  his  own  fam- 
ily, to  his  comrades  at  school,  to  his  teachers,  his  neighbors, 
friends,  fellow-citizens,  even  to  the  nation  under  whose  flag 
he  lives,  and  to  the  race  of  which  he  is  a  member.  He  has 


I-/ 

THE  CAPACITY  TO  FEEL  77 

a  clearer  idea  of  his  duty,  as  involved  in  all  these  relation- 
ships; a  better  conception  of  what  is  expected  of  him  by 
others,  and  of  what  he  has  a  right  to  expect  from  others. 
His  sense  of  justice,  and  his  capacity  to  feel  injustice  deeply, 
are  much  more  marked  than  in  childhood,  chiefly  by  virtue 
of  his  better  understanding  of  what  constitutes  an  act  of  in- 
justice in  specific  instances.  He  gets  a  larger  conception 
of  what  he  owes  to  himself,  of  what  he  may  make  of  him- 
self, and  of  the  place  he  may  fill  in  the  world.  And  all 
these  ideas  and  judgments  have  their  part  to  play  in  de- 
termining the  character  and  the  intensity  of  his  emotions. 

Not  only  the  quality  but  the  range  of  the  emotional  life, 
is  greatly  enlarged  in  the  period  of  youth.  The  chords 
of  feeling  respond  to  a  greater  variety  of  stimuli.  The 
entire  being  becomes  more  highly  sensitized,  and  sensitized 
at  a  greater  number  of  points.  Objects  and  situations  that 
previously  made  little  or  no  impression,  now  produce  effects 
that  are  deep  and  lasting.  Strong  and  enduring  friendships 
are  formed  with  persons  of  his  own  sex,  and  the  charms  and 
graces  of  the  other  sex  begin  to  work  their  subtle  and  mystic 
effects  in  his  soul.  Admiration  and  respect  for  those  who 
are  older  and  wiser  than  himself,  reverence  and  awe  in  the 
presence  of  what  he  regards  as  holy,  gratitude  for  kindnesses 
received  from  others,  grief  in  the  presence  of  sorrow,  and 
sympathy  with  the  victims  of  misfortune,  all  become  pos- 
sible to  a  degree  never  before  realized. 

Nature  makes  a  new  and  stronger  appeal.  Youth  is 
even  more  responsive  than  childhood  to  the  colors  and 
forms  of  natural  objects,  animate  and  inanimate;  to  the 
beauty  of  a  sunset,  or  of  a  flower;  to  the  majesty  of  a  storm 
at  sea  or  on  land;  to  the  charms  of  music  and  of  poetry; 
and  to  the  great  truths  that  make  up  the  body  of  religious 
doctrine.  Many  a  youth  has  found  within  himself  a  new 
sense  of  unity  and  kinship  with  the  world  of  nature,  with 
the  social  and  moral  order,  and  with  that  which  he  con- 
ceives as  the  divine. 

He  is  fairly  intoxicated  with  the  beauty  of  many  objects 


78     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

in  the  material  world.  He  may  at  times  indulge  a  feeling 
of  communion,  and  fancy  that  birds  and  flowers,  wind  and 
storm  and  sunshine,  the  stars,  the  sea,  the  trees,  and  the  eve- 
ning shadows  or  the  morning  light,  or  even  old  mother 
earth  herself,  speaks  to  his  soul  as  friend  speaks  with  friend. 
To  those  of  us  who  share  Mr.  Balfour's  conviction  of  the 
essential  spirituality  of  the  world  of  beauty,1  the  youth  at 
such  moments  as  these  will  appear  as  one  who  is  not  far 
from  the  kingdom  of  God. 

In  respect  of  the  feelings  that  gather  about  the  moral 
life,  taking  their  rise  in  the  apprehension  of  moral  principles, 
the  judgment  of  moral  values,  and  the  ideas  of  duty  and 
moral  integrity,  the  period  under  review  presents  some 
peculiar  characteristics  that  make  it  of  intense  interest, 
and  impart  to  it  a  specially  marked  educational  significance. 
Here  again  we  may  compare  the  adolescent  with  the  little 
child  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  mature  man  on  the  other. 
In  both  these  there  is  usually  to  be  found  a  certain  measure 
of  materialism  in  motive,  and  moral  feeling  shapes  itself  ac- 
cordingly. The  moral  judgments  of  a  little  child  are  simple 
empirical  judgments,  based  on  the  consequences  of  his  acts, 
as  he  finds  those  acts  to  be  followed  by  pains  or  pleasures 
of  various  kinds,  either  in  the  form  of  natural  results  (e.g., 
illness  brought  on  by  over-eating)  or  as  results  determined 
by  the  will  of  others  (e.g.,  punishments  or  rewards  given 
by  parents).  The  moral  judgment  and  the  moral  motive 
do  not,  in  childhood,  fully  detach  themselves  from  the  hopes 
and  fears  that  gather  about  the  consequences  of  actions.  In 
mature  life,  again,  there  are  many  circumstances  that  tend 
to  infect  one's  moral  judgments  with  the  taint  of  utilitarian- 
ism. But  in  youth,  if  ever,  the  moral  sentiments  may  be- 
come separated  from  every  consideration  of  personal  ad- 
vantage, and  the  individual  may  be  a  genuine  Kantian  in 
morals,  yearning  to  yield  himself  without  reserve  to  the 

1  Balfour,  Theism  and  Humanism  (The  Gifford  Lectures,  1914),  New 
York,  1915. 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  FEEL  79 

pure  idea  of  duty,  from  which  every  vestige  of  self-interest 
has  been  purged  away.  This  does  not  mean  that  youth  is 
always  and  everywhere  disinterested,  but  it  does  mean  that 
in  the  heart  of  youth  the  love  of  goodness  for  its  own  sake 
may  become  a  deep  passion,  capable  of  moving  to  noble 
deeds  utterly  regardless  of  personal  gain  or  loss  to  the 
subject  of  the  emotion.  And  the  true  end  of  moral  educa- 
tion could  not  perhaps  be  better  stated  than  in  some  formula 
that  means  the  maintenance  of  this  high  and  unselfish  moral 
idealism  unimpaired  to  the  end  of  life. 

Of  the  feelings  that  gather  about  the  religious  life  some- 
thing very  similar  may  be  said.  If  the  essence  of  reli- 
gion consists  in  devotion  to  the  service  of  God  and  ministra- 
tion to  the  needs  of  men,  for  the  pure  love  of  God  and  man, 
then  religion  may  often  be  found  in  its  purest  form  in  the 
age  which  we  are  considering.  For  at  no  other  time  of  life 
are  we  capable  of  more  intense  devotion  to  any  personality 
that  appeals  to  us.  Personality  captivates  and  enthralls. 
Human  personalities  absorb  attention  and  interest.  Little 
children  love,  but  adolescents  fall  in  love,  which  is  a  far 
more  profound  and  soul-stirring  experience.  So,  in  a  still 
deeper  and  loftier  sense,  the  outstanding  feature  of  the 
religion  of  youth  is  an  intense  love  for  the  personality  of 
the  Saviour.  The  personal  element  predominates,  and  the 
feeling  for  personality  is  in  the  ascendant.  This  is  of 
course  also  the  case  in  the  religion  of  childhood,  though  in 
a  less  profound  degree;  and  one  is  tempted  to  add  that 
the  most  genuine  and  abiding  elements  in  the  religion  of 
any  age  are  to  be  found,  not  in  the  abstract  propositions  of 
its  theological  system,  but  in  the  depth  and  durability  of  its 
devotion  to  the  person  of  its  God.  The  formulation  of 
these  theological  propositions  is  bound  to  come  sooner  or 
later,  for  religion  must  and  should  make  its  appeal  to  the 
intellect,  as  well  as  to  the  affections;  but  they  provide  the 
light  rather  than  the  heat,  the  guidance  rather  than  the 
dynamic,  of  the  religious  life.  Young  men  and  women  near- 


8o     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

ing  the  threshold  of  maturity  will  be  found  giving  some 
attention  to  the  reasoned  construction  of  the  faith  that 
is  in  them,  but  in  childhood  and  early  youth  the  element  of 
personal  attachment  to  a  personal  Redeemer  is  the  cardinal 
feature  of  religious  experience. 

It  should  be  borne  in  mind  in  the  next  place,  that  the 
emotional  experiences  of  adolescence,  though  intense  and 
profound  at  times,  are  deficient  in  steadiness  and  consistency. 
This  is  not  at  all  to  be  wondered  at.  For  the  deeper  capaci- 
ties, both  of  thought  and  feeling,  have  now  been  let  loose, 
but  they  have  not  yet  been  brought  into  that  relation  to  each 
other  that  means  control  and  consistency.  The  early  part 
of  the  adolescent  period  especially  is  lacking  in  balance  and 
stability.  Moods  and  whims  dominate  to  a  marked  degree. 
The  canvas  of  life  is  painted,  now  in  the  most  brilliant 
colors,  now  in  the  gloomiest  shades.  All  sorts  of  extremes 
in  feeling  are  experienced.  At  one  time  the  "  joy  of  merely 
being  alive  "  is  so  great  as  to  be  fairly  intoxicating;  at  an- 
other, life  seems  to  hold  out  no  prizes  worth  striving  for, 
and  everything  in  the  view  is  stale,  flat  and  unprofitable. 
At  no  other  time  in  life  do  we  draw  more  roseate  pictures, 
or  lay  plans  more  enthusiastically  for  the  future;  nor,  on 
the  other  hand,  is  there  any  time  of  life  when  unreasonable 
fits  of  gloom  and  desoondency  are  more  likely  to  mar  the 
joys  of  living  for  the  time  being.  Eager,  ecstatic  enjoyment 
of  life  is  characteristic  of  youth,  and  yet  there  are  very 
many  suicides  of  persons  between  the  aojes  of  twelve  and 
twenty.  And  there  are  all  degrees  of  fluctuation  between 
these  two  extremes  of  joyousness  and  gloom.  The  majority, 
probably,  do  not  approach  either  extreme  very  closely;  but 
there  are  few  who  do  not,  at  this  time  of  life,  have  some 
experience  of  these  fluctuations  of  feeling,  which  are  the 
outward  sign  that  the  rational  will  has  not  yet  attained  com- 
plete control  of  the  feelings. 

Those  feelings  that  are  more  directly  connected  with  the 
consciousness  of  the  self  show  very  clearly  this  lack  of 
balance  and  control.  The  feeling  of  personal  pride  and 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  FEEL  81 

self-complacency  may  assume  a  most  pronounced  form;  but 
it  may  alternate  with  moods  of  profound  self-distrust,  and 
even  self-loathing.  Successes,  in  sport,  in  study,  in  music, 
in  literary  composition,  or  in  any  sort  of  mechanical  work 
requiring  an  inventive  mind  and  a  steady  hand,  bring  ex- 
travagant elation;  while  failure  is  apt  to  produce  just  as 
extravagant  depression  and  gloom. 

This  is  more  especially  true  of  those  forms  of  emotion 
that  become  developed  now  for  the  first  time,  as  distinct 
from  those  which  have  been  in  play  from  childhood.  It 
does  not  apply  in  the  same  degree  to  the  feeling  of  fear, 
or  anger,  or  wonder,  since  these  are  to  be  found  from  the 
earliest  years;  but  it  is  particularly  noticeable  in  the  case 
of  all  those  feelings  that  are  rooted  in  the  idea  of  the  self 
and  the  relation  of  the  self  to  other  selves,  involving  esti- 
mates of  personal  worth  and  conceptions  of  moral  value. 
Over  and  above  those  differences  that  obtain  between  dif- 
ferent persons,  one  and  the  same  individual  may  be  very 
bold,  aggressive,  and  self-confident  at  one  time,  and  ex- 
tremely timid  and  diffident  at  another.  And  both  arise 
from  the  same  general  cause,  namely,  the  inability  to  rate 
himself  at  his  real  value.  So  the  estimate  is  too  high  to- 
day and  too  low  to-morrow.  Rapid  physical  growth  helps 
to  exaggerate  both  these  inaccuracies  of  self-evaluation. 
For  on  the  one  hand  it  brings  with  it  the  consciousness  of 
power,  and  so  inspires  self-confidence;  while  on  the  other  it 
means  some  proportional  loss  of  control  for  the  time  being; 
especially  as  the  growth  is  not  altogether  symmetrical,  but 
some  parts  and  organs  forge  ahead  of  others.  The  limbs 
grow  faster  in  length  than  in  circumference.  Bones  grow 
more  rapidly  than  muscles.  The  heart  grows  more  rapidly 
than  the  arteries.  The  result  is  an  abounding  feeling  of 
vigor  and  power,  together  with  an  overpowering  sense  of 
awkwardness  and  gaucherie;  and  sometimes  the  one,  and 
sometimes  the  other,  is  in  the  ascendancy.  The  youth  is 
quite  capable  of  thrusting  himself  forward,  taking  the  initia- 
tive, and  showing  the  aggressive  spirit  to  a  degree  that  is 


82     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

astonishing;  and  yet  he  is  far  more  awkward,  retiring,  and 
self-distrustful,  than  either  the  little  child  or  the  grown 
man.  Control  of  the  impulses  by  the  understanding  will 
by  degrees  bring  to  him  stability  and  consistency  of  action; 
but  in  the  meantime  he  is  like  an  unbroken  colt,  with  all  a 
colt's  buoyancy  of  spirits,  awkwardness  of  carriage,  and 
uncertainty  of  movements. 

If  we  take  account  also  of  the  rising  social  and  sex  con- 
sciousness, we  shall  understand  still  better  the  forwardness 
and  the  backwardness  of  youth.  With  the  growth  of  this 
consciousness  there  come  into  existence  powerful  impulses 
to  self-assertion,  and  equally  powerful  deterrents  thereto. 
Interest  in  his  own  personality,  as  well  as  in  that  of  others, 
leads  to  new  forms  of  aggressiveness,  and  new  outcroppings 
of  sensitiveness,  to  which,  as  a  little  child,  he  was  almost  a 
total  stranger.  He  feels  more  keenly  now  what  others 
think  of  him.  Ridicule  wounds  him  deeply.  He  has  a  hor- 
ror of  making  himself  absurd,  and  may  betray  almost  a 
morbid  fear  of  making  blunders,  in  speech  or  action,  or  of 
committing  any  impropriety  that  would  lower  him  in  the 
opinion  of  others. 


CHAPTER  VII 

INTELLECT,   OR   THE    CAPACITY  TO   THINK 

Bearing  always  in  mind  the  fact,  emphasized  in  an  earlier 
chapter,  that  the  thinking  capacity,  or  the  power  to  know, 
is  never  found  absolutely  alone,  but  always  associated  with 
elements  of  feeling  and  of  volition;  that  while  it  is  possible 
to  a  certain  extent  to  isolate  one  or  other  of  these  mental 
functions  for  purposes  of  study  and  analysis,  they  are  al- 
ways more  or  less  co-implicated  in  actual  experience ;  it  shall 
be  our  task  in  this  chapter  to  look  more  especially  at  the 
intellectual  or  cognitive  aspect  of  the  mental  life,  to  study 
its  leading  features,  to  take  into  account  its  development 
through  the  whole  period  of  growth,  but  especially  during 
adolescent  life,  and  to  pay  some  attention  to  the  morbid 
forms  which  it  may  assume,  especially  during  that  period. 

Reference  has  already  been  made  to  the  primacy  of  the 
intellect,  or  the  reason,  in  human  life.  Man  was  intended 
to  exercise  dominion  over  the  forces  of  nature  about  him 
and  over  those  subtler  forces  within;  and  this  dominion  is 
administered  through  ideas.  The  significance  of  this  for 
the  teacher  is  very  great.  All  teaching,  and  all  preaching, 
however  earnestly  and  however  laudably  it  may  direct  its 
appeal  to  the  feelings  or  the  will,  must  do  so,  not  directly, 
but  only  through  the  presentation  of  ideas  to  the  mind. 
And  when  the  feelings  or  the  will  have  been  reached  and 
aroused  to  activity,  that  activity  must  still  remain  under 
the  control  of  ideas,  for  otherwise  the  inner  life  will  become 
a  mere  psychical  chaos.  And  this  is  nowhere  more  evident 
than  in  the  spheres  of  morals  and  religion,  in  which  the 
education  of  the  individual  reaches  its  true  end  and  its  most 
perfect  realization.  If  morality  is  not  under  the  control 

83 


84     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

of  intelligence,  it  becomes  merely  the  random  functioning  of 
unregulated  instincts,  with  no  clearly  conceived  end  in  view, 
(which  is  equivalent  to  saying  that  it  is  not  morality  at  all) 
and  if  a  man's  religion  is  not  permitted  to  become  thought- 
ful and  reflective,  then,  in  the  words  of  Edward  Caird,  that 
man  "  will  inevitably  turn  his  creed  into  a  dead  formula  and 
his  worship  into  a  superstition."  1 

Intellect  is  the  organ  of  cognition.  Intellectual  opera- 
tions, or  the  activities  of  thought,  result  in  knowledge.  The 
function  of  thought  is  the  progressive  ordering,  correlation, 
and  interpretation  of  the  manifold  and  ever-changing  im- 
pressions that  arise  in  consciousness,  their  reduction  under 
the  categories  of  the  understanding,  and  the  apprehension 
of  their  meaning  in  reference  to  objective  reality.  The  pro- 
gress of  an  individual  mind  towards  maturity  consists  partly 
in  a  steady  increase  in  the  fulness,  richness,  and  variety  of 
the  stream  of  mental  contents  itself,  and  partly  in  a  steady 
advance  towards  more  perfect  control,  more  complete  cor- 
relation, and  more  adequate  interpretation,  of  these  sub- 
jective processes  in  reference  to  truth  and  reality. 

In  infancy,  while  the  variety  of  mental  contents  is  not 
great,  the  correlation  of  those  mental  contents  is  imper- 
fect and  the  interpretation  of  their  meaning  extremely  in- 
adequate. Such  relations  as  those  of  space  and  time,  in 
connexion  with  the  perception  of  things,  are  often  grossly 
under-estimated  or  over-estimated.  Size,  weight,  and  other 
properties  of  objects,  are  erroneously  judged,  through  lack 
of  that  experience  which  gives  standards  of  measurement. 
Ideas  and  images  come  and  pass  away,  each  holding  the 
child's  attention  while  it  is  present  in  consciousness,  but  likely 
to  be  forgotten  as  soon  as  it  has  passed  beyond  the  region 
of  actual  sensation.  One  mental  process  has  but  small  con- 
nexion with  another,  and  the  conception  of  a  totality  and  a 
unity  into  which  all  the  ideas  enter  as  constituent  members, 
has  not  yet  attained  to  clearness.  The  transition  from  in- 
fancy to  maturity  seems  to  consist,  on  the  intellectual  side, 

1  Caird,  Evolution  of  Theology  in  the  Greek  Philosophers,  Vol.  I,  p.  7. 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  THINK  85 

in  progress  from  an  unorganized  and  unintegrated  medley  of 
impressions  and  images,  to  an  organized  and  integrated  sys- 
tem or  totality;  in  short,  a  world,  cognized  as  a  significant 
unity. 

It  is  precisely  in  the  adolescent  period  that  some  of  the 
longest  strides  are  taken  in  this  process  of  the  organization 
and  consolidation  of  ideas.  In  the  preceding  years,  those 
of  boyhood  and  girlhood,  or  from  eight  to  twelve,  genuine 
progress  is  made  in  this  direction,  and  many  of  the  most 
serviceable  concepts  are  built  up  in  the  mind,  and  become 
a  permanent  possession.  But  they  are  constructed  on  com- 
paratively narrow  lines.  They  are  true  enough  so  far  as 
they  go,  but  they  do  not  go  very  far.  They  are  local  in 
their  character  and  restricted  in  their  range.  They  have 
reference,  for  the  most  part,  to  the  common  objects  of  every- 
day sensuous  experience,  to  the  things  that  come  in  the  way 
of  a  boy  or  girl  in  the  ordinary  course  of  home  and  school 
life.  But  in  the  period  of  adolescence  there  is  a  marked  ex- 
pansion in  the  range  of  the  individual's  conceptions,  as  well 
as  in  their  quality.  The  imagination,  which  hitherto  has 
played  its  part  largely  within  the  circumference  of  the  most 
familiar  sense-experiences,  now  spreads  its  wings  for  more 
ambitious  flights,  and  essays  the  construction  of  things  that 
eye  hath  not  seen  nor  ear  heard.  But  as  all  the  processes 
of  representation  and  thought  are  dependent  upon  the  func- 
tioning of  the  senses,  let  us  begin  with  these,  as  the  logical 
starting  point  in  our  account  of  the  intellectual  life. 

The  earlier  years  of  life  are  notoriously  the  years  of  the 
reign  of  the  senses.  Childhood  revels  in  the  sensuous  as- 
pects of  the  world;  and  youth  is  scarcely  one  whit  behind 
childhood  in  this  respect.  The  sense  world  exerts,  in  fact, 
a  deeper  and  more  mystic  spell.  New  emotions  gather 
about  the  objects  of  the  external  world.  New  qualities  are 
attributed  to  those  objects.  New  functions  are  ascribed  to 
them.  New  uses  are  discovered  for  them.  Myths  and 
fancies  gather  about  them,  and  a  new  beauty  is  seen  in  them. 
The  young  adolescent  often  finds  in  these  inanimate  things 


86     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

a  sort  of  companionship,  which  may  become  of  absorbing 
interest.  The  soul  of  youth  and  the  world  of  nature  seem 
as  though  they  were  made  for  one  another;  and  fortunate 
is  the  boy  or  the  girl  in  whose  life  there  is  abundant  oppor- 
tunity for  this  intercommunion.  The  soul  of  the  child 
hungers  for  the  sights  and  sounds  of  nature  as  his  physical 
system  hungers  for  food;  and  in  the  period  of  adolescence 
that  soul-hunger  is  in  some  ways  still  more  intense.  The 
very  senses  themselves  are  more  acute  in  many  respects. 
It  is  believed  that  the  adolescent  discerns  colors,  and  shades 
of  color,  better  than  the  child.  It  is  maintained  that  the 
power  to  see  all  the  colors  in  the  chromatic  series  is  not  com- 
pletely attained  before  puberty  as  a  rule.  At  all  events  the 
power  of  color  discrimination  goes  on  increasing  through  the 
earlier  adolescent  period.  But  the  main  point  is  that  color 
makes  a  deeper  impression  on  the  mind  at  this  period  than 
ever  before.  Ideas  and  emotions  are  in  more  fundamental 
and  vital  relation,  and  hence  sensuous  impressions  that  move 
a  little  child  in  a  lively  but  superficial  and  transient  way, 
make  deep  and  abiding  impressions  on  the  mind  of  the  youth. 
Meanings  are  discerned  in  these  sensuous  experiences  which 
were  not  dreamed  of  before. 

The  space  qualities  of  bodies  are  now  more  accurately 
estimated  than  before.  Practical  tests  have  shown  that 
boys  and  girls  from  the  age  of  puberty  onward  make  rapid 
improvement  in  the  power  to  estimate  the  size  of  an  object, 
its  distance  from  the  observer,  or  the  distance  of  two  ob- 
jects apart,  and  in  all  other  visual  estimates;  while  the 
"  extensive  threshold,"  or  the  ability  to  receive  and  hold  a 
number  of  simultaneous  impressions,  is  much  increased. 

What  is  true  of  the  sense  of  sight  is  also  true  of  hearing, 
as  well  as  of  the  other  senses.  Heightened  sensibility  ob- 
tains everywhere;  not  so  much  on  account  of  any  merely 
physical  superiority  belonging  to  the  sense  organs,  as  on  ac- 
count of  an  augmented  power  of  giving  attention  to  sense 
stimuli,  and  so  increasing  their  effectiveness;  this  power 
being,  in  turn,  the  product,  in  part  at  least,  of  a  deepened 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  THINK  87 

interest  in  all  the  objects  of  the  sense  world.  So  by  the 
medium  of  the  ear,  as  by  that  of  the  eye,  the  world  of  nature 
and  art  makes  a  more  powerful  appeal,  and  elicits  a  more 
complex  and  comprehensive  response.  Finer  distinctions 
are  made  in  tone,  accent  and  inflection;  and  there  is  a  much 
better  appreciation  of  totals  and  aggregates,  in  which  the 
relations  of  a  number  of  sounds  to  one  another,  either  simul- 
taneous or  successive,  constitute  the  chief  feature. 

The  sense  of  touch  takes  on  a  new  keenness  and  delicacy. 
With  the  advent  of  that  heightened  consciousness  of  the 
self  which  is  one  of  the  marks  of  puberty  it  is  but  natural 
that  we  should  find  a  greater  delicacy  of  dermal  sensibility. 
The  skin,  the  organ  of  the  touch  sense,  being  spread  over 
the  entire  body,  exposes  the  inner  ego,  as  it  were,  to  a  very 
wide  range  of  impressions  from  without.  Touch,  more- 
over, is  in  some  respects  a  fundamental  sense,  a  sort  of  final 
touchstone,  to  which  the  sensations  of  the  other  senses  are 
brought,  in  case  there  is  any  doubt  of  the  truthfulness  of 
their  reports.  In  the  last  resort  touching  is  believing. 
Even  the  perceptions  of  sight,  in  doubtful  cases,  are  corro- 
borated or  discredited  by  an  appeal  to  touch,  where  such 
appeal  is  possible. 

Augmented  sensitiveness  is  seen  very  plainly  in  all  that 
has  to  do  with  the  dermal  consciousness.  It  is  not  unlikely 
that  the  impress  of  the  clothing  on  all  parts  of  the  body, 
the  breezes  that  blow  on  the  exposed  portions,  and  the  con- 
tact of  all  sorts  of  objects  with  the  skin,  are  perceived  now 
with  a  specially  fine  discrimination.  Warts,  pimples,  sores 
on  the  skin,  and  the  roughness  caused  by  chapped  hands  in 
cold  weather,  are  specially  annoying,  as  is  also  the  contact  of 
rough  surfaces,  such  as  a  rusty  stove  pipe,  with  the  palms  of 
the  hands.  Similarly  with  such  objects  as  grease,  soap,  or 
decayed  vegetable  matter,  the  touch  of  which  is,  in  some 
cases,  well-nigh  intolerable.  There  are  some  young  per- 
sons who  have  a  strong  aversion  to  hand  shaking,  or  to 
handling  any  tool,  say  a  knife,  that  is  still  warm  from  con- 
tact with  the  hand  of  another  person. 


88     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

The  sense  of  taste  shows  some  new  characteristics  and 
some  striking  features  of  development.  In  common  with 
the  other  senses,  it  comes  more  under  the  dominance  of  the 
mental  powers,  and  is  more  modified  by  emotional  states, 
than  previously.  Many  changes  occur  in  the  likes  and  dis- 
likes of  individuals.  Things  not  previously  desired  are  now 
sought  for;  while  many  things  liked  in  childhood  are  dis- 
liked in  adolescence.  In  general  it  may  be  said  that  foods 
of  a  stronger  character,  or  of  more  pungent,  acid,  or  salty 
tastes,  are  desired.  Foods  more  highly  spiced,  more  sweet 
foods,  more  acid  foods,  more  hot  flavors,  are  found  to  be 
agreeable.  Gum  chewing  is  prevalent.  And  the  adoles- 
cent does  what  the  little  child  rarely  ever  does  of  his  own 
accord;  he  seeks  to  alter  his  tastes,  to  create  in  himself  a 
liking  for  something  not  previously  liked,  or  to  break  up 
and  destroy  the  taste  for  some  specific  thing.  He  may  be 
led  to  this  by  the  example  of  others,  or  by  some  new  con- 
ception as  to  his  personal  well-being,  picked  up  through  his 
reading,  or  through  contact  with  other  persons. 

What  has  been  said  of  the  sense  of  taste  may  be  said,  in 
effect,  of  the  sense  of  smell.  This  sense  becomes  greatly 
developed  at  puberty,  especially  in  the  female.  There  is 
a  new  appreciation  of  odors  not  noticed  before.  The 
threshold  is  lowered,  and  the  just  observable  difference  in 
odors  is  very  small,  which  means  that  the  discriminative 
sensibility  is  very  great.  At  the  same  time  new  dislikes 
may  appear.  More  pleasure  is  experienced  from  agreeable 
odors,  and  more  pain  from  disagreeable  ones.  This  is  in 
contrast  with  little  children,  who  are  comparatively  indiffer- 
ent to  the  character  of  the  odors  inhaled.  Youth  is  the 
age  above  all  others  when  perfumes  are  most  lavishly  em- 
ployed in  the  toilet;  in  which  the  smell  of  food,  of  flowers, 
and  of  other  objects,  makes  the  deepest  impression,  and 
when  these  sensations  are  most  closely  associated  with  ideas 
and  ideals. 

The  increase  in  general  sensitiveness  in  the  teens  seems  to 
extend  to  all  the  senses,  including  that  of  temperature.  The 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  THINK  89 

boy  of  fifteen  is  more  sensitive  to  heat  and  cold  than  the  boy 
of  ten  or  eleven,  and  this  is  even  more  true  of  the  girl. 
The  other  phase  of  the  matter  is  that  sense-processes  and 
the  responses  thereto  on  the  motor  side,  come  into  active 
functional  connexion  at  higher  psychic  levels.  In  child- 
hood the  impressions  that  fall  upon  the  sensory  issue  in 
movements  on  the  sensori-motor  reflex  plane,  of  which  the 
sudden  closing  of  the  eye  when  a  particle  of  dust  strikes  the 
lashes  may  be  taken  as  a  type.  The  active  functioning  of 
intelligence  in  the  interpretation  of  the  impression,  and  in 
the  deliberate  adjustment  of  the  reaction  thereto,  is  at  a 
minimum;  the  process  completes  itself  by  virtue  of  native 
instincts  or  reactions  that  are  habitual.  But  with  the  com- 
ing on  of  the  larger  life  of  adolescence,  with  its  more  vigor- 
ous mentality,  these  sense-impressions  are  more  likely  to  be 
weighed  and  considered,  and  the  responses  to  them  adjusted 
and  ordered  with  greater  deliberation.  So  the  entire  sys- 
tem of  the  senses,  and  the  processes  connected  with  them, 
become  more  vitally  knit  in  with  the  totality  of  the  mental 
life,  and  the  responses  that  are  made  to  the  impressions 
from  the  outer  world  express  the  fuller  integrity  of  the 
whole  soul. 

The  most  noticeable  features  in  the  growth  of  the  mem- 
ory power,  as  childhood  passes  into  youth,  are  first,  the 
rapid  multiplication  of  memories,  and  second,  the  develop- 
ment of  the  power  to  unify  memories  into  a  system,  and  to 
hold  in  the  mind,  not  only  single  memory  images,  but  the 
connexions  and  relations  of  these  images  with  one  another. 
The  first  of  these  characteristics  is  due  to  the  rapid  expan- 
sion of  interests  that  now  takes  place;  so  that  attention  is 
given  to  a  greater  variety  of  things  than  in  childhood.  So, 
as  more  things  are  attended  to,  more  things  are  remembered. 
The  second  of  these  characteristics  is  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance as  a  symptom  of  the  growth  of  the  mental  powers 
and  faculties  toward  their  adult  form.  Its  consideration 
takes  us  beyond  memory  proper,  into  the  activities  of  general 
conception  and  judgment;  but  meantime  we  may  remark  that 


90     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

memory  combinations  and  associations  are  developed  in 
great  abundance  and  variety  from  the  twelfth  year,  boys 
having  rather  better  memories  than  girls  for  relations  and 
connexions  of  impressions,  while  girls  as  a  rule  possess 
better  memories  for  isolated  impressions. 

While  fully  recognizing  the  wonderful  vivacity  of  the  im- 
agination in  every  period  of  life  up  to  maturity,  and,  indeed, 
beyond  that  point,  it  would  be  safe  to  say  that  at  no  other 
time  in  the  whole  life  does  it  show  such  buoyancy  and  such 
virility,  as  in  the  period  of  adolescence.  Almost  every  sort 
of  material  is  utilized  in  its  constructions,  and  those  con- 
structions bear  the  impress  of  a  more  comprehensive  and 
ambitious  outlook.  Realms  that  were  unknown  and  un- 
dreamed of  by  the  little  child  are  now  explored,  surveyed, 
and  mapped  out,  though  to  be  sure  in  a  very  imperfect,  and 
often  highly  eccentric  fashion.  And  withal  there  is  a  glow 
and  an  intensity  of  human  interest  in  the  imagery  of  the 
adolescent,  of  which  we  find  scarcely  more  than  a  faint  fore- 
cast in  the  imagery  of  the  child.  But  perhaps  the  most  im- 
portant point  is  this,  that  in  the  period  we  are  studying,  the 
play  of  imagery  comes  under  more  definite  intellectual  con- 
trol. But  this  statement  must  at  once  be  guarded  by  two 
reservations.  In  the  first  place  we  do  not  mean  that  the 
logical  powers  of  the  child  are  weaker  relatively  than  his 
powers  of  imagination,  though  this,  no  doubt,  is  the  case; 
but  only  that  the  imagery  of  the  representative  powers  is 
as  yet  comparatively  independent  of  the  definite,  conscious, 
shaping  activity  of  the  intellect.  The  logical  power  has 
not  yet  come  into  the  full  exercise  of  its  prerogatives  in  so 
far  as  the  direction  and  control  of  the  work  of  image-build- 
ing is  concerned.  In  the  second  place  the  more  perfect  in- 
tellectual control  to  which  reference  has  been  made,  is  not, 
as  a  rule,  very  fully  realized  in  the  earlier  years  of  adoles- 
cence, but  only  towards  the  close  of  that  period.  For  that 
very  exuberance  and  fertility  of  the  imagination,  of  which 
we  have  spoken,  and  which  is  so  strongly  marked  in  the 
years  from  twelve  to  fifteen  or  sixteen,  somewhat  hinders 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  THINK  91 

the  exercise  of  the  soberer  functions  of  the  logical  faculty. 
The  buoyant  and  virile  imagination  is  apt  to  be  impatient  of 
the  restraints  of  cool  and  calculating  judgment.  The  rush 
of  new  imagery  threatens  to  overwhelm  the  cognitive 
powers,  and  to  mock  at  the  petty  barriers  which  they  would 
try  to  set  up.  So  that  it  might  seem  as  though  intellectual 
control  of  the  stream  of  images  is  even  less  complete  here 
than  in  childhood.  But  if  this  is  the  case,  it  is  a  temporary 
and  transient  condition  that  is  preparatory  to  the  more  per- 
fect control  of  a  later  time.  It  is  as  though  the  materials 
for  cognitive  activity  have  accumulated  so  rapidly  as  to  tax 
severely  the  powers  of  the  mind  that  are  responsible  for 
their  ordering,  shaping,  and  interpretation. 

Observation  reveals,  however,  from  about  the  sixteenth 
year  to  maturity,  a  steady  increase  in  the  control  of  im- 
agery, as  well  as  in  the  control  of  feeling  and  appetite, 
by  the  higher  rational  powers.  The  imagination  now 
begins  to  do  its  work  within  more  settled  and  regular 
boundaries.  The  vagaries  and  extravagances  of  fancy 
and  day-dreaming  become  somewhat  less  pronounced,  not  so 
much  through  repression,  as  through  direction;  and  so  the 
imagery  becomes,  not  less  rich  and  varied,  but  only  more 
rational  and  intelligible,  and  more  conformed  to  what  is 
within  the  boundaries  of  possible  experience.  Many  castles 
are  still  built  in  Spain,  but  at  least  they  are  a  little  less 
remote,  in  their  style  of  architecture,  and  in  their  situation, 
from  those  structures  that  are  to  be  found  along  the 
thoroughfares  where  real  men  and  women  pass  to  and  fro. 
One  of  the  principal  causes  of  this  progressive  rationalizing 
of  the  imagery  of  youth,  as  he  moves  toward  maturity,  lies 
in  the  fact  that  his  mind  now  begins  to  turn  towards  the 
larger  concerns  of  life.  The  birth  of  the  social  conscious- 
ness means  a  vast  expansion  of  the  mental  outlook.  As  a 
child  he  was  largely  occupied  with  the  concerns  of  the  day 
and  the  hour.  The  future  meant  but  little  to  him,  though 
he  often  talked  of  what  he  would  be  when  he  should  be- 
come a  man.  But  the  phrase  "  when  I  am  a  man  "  was  ex- 


92     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

tremely  vague  in  meaning.  He  was  absorbed  in  the  occu- 
pations and  interests  of  the  moment.  So  also,  as  his  mental 
reach  did  not  go  very  far  into  the  future,  neither  did  it  ex- 
tend very  far  out  on  this  side  or  on  that.  The  relatively 
narrow  circle  of  the  home  and  the  school  practically  ex- 
hausted its  area.  But  now,  as  a  youth,  with  the  new  forces 
and  powers  being  born  within  him,  forces  and  powers  that 
have  their  ultimate  significance  in  relation  to  the  race  of 
which  he  is  a  member,  he  begins  to  think  of  the  whole  length 
of  the  life  that  is  before  him,  and  of  the  social  whole  in 
which,  as  he  now  begins  to  realize,  he  is  an  integral  part. 
He  plans  for  the  whole  of  that  life  (though  his  plans  are 
often  quixotic)  and  no  longer  merely  for  himself,  but  also 
for  others,  with  whose  interests  his  own  are  seen  to  be  in- 
volved. Life  opens  up  before  him  as  a  thing  of  inexhaust- 
ible interest  and  worth.  The  small  child  is  hardly  able  to 
form  any  clear  conception  of  life  as  a  whole.  The  present 
hour  is  very  real,  but  the  future  is  not  very  vividly  con- 
ceived or  imagined.  In  youth,  on  the  contrary,  the  mind  is 
able  to  form  an  idea  of  life  as  a  totality,  though  of  course 
it  is  even  now  a  vague  whole  that  awaits  further  specific 
filling  out  through  the  growth  of  the  mental  powers  and 
the  extension  of  experience.  And  in  the  conception  of  that 
whole  the  idea  of  purpose  or  meaning  comes  to  the  front 
and  occupies  an  increasingly  prominent  place.  Life  seems 
full  of  opportunities.  Achievement  beckons;  difficulties  are 
ignored,  or  appear  non-existent;  success  is  taken  for  granted. 
The  essential  thing  about  the  mature  mind,  as  distin- 
guished from  the  immature  mind,  is  the  power  to  grasp  ideas 
in  their  relations  to  one  another  in  a  totality  or  system. 
This  power,  as  exercised  upon  the  facts  and  relations  that 
make  up  the  world  of  experience,  gives  us  the  scientific  mind; 
as  exercised  in  speculation  upon  the  principles  and  pre-suppo- 
sitions,  the  significance  and  value,  of  these  facts,  in  the  light 
of  ultimate  categories,  it  gives  us  the  philosophic  mind. 
One  of  the  first  essentials  in  the  unfolding  of  the  mind  that 
is  to  be  either  scientific  or  philosophical  is,  as  Aristotle  said, 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  THINK  93 

the  consolidation  of  single  perceptions  into  memories,  and 
these  into  "  experiences,"  as  a  preparation  for  that  still 
wider  consolidation  which  yields  the  idea  of  laws  and  prin- 
ciples which  lie  at  the  basis  of  science  and  of  philosophy 
respectively.  From  about  the  twelfth  year  of  life  one  may 
see,  in  boys  and  girls  of  normal  development,  a  marked  ad- 
vance in  this  power  of  synthesis  in  memory  and  judgment. 
The  mind  of  the  small  boy,  like  his  pocket,  contains  a  good 
many  things,  but  these  things  are  in  no  very  obvious  order 
or  system.  They  do  not  stand  in  any  very  clear  relations 
with  one  another.  They  are  a  miscellaneous  lot.  But  with 
the  age  of  puberty,  the  augmented  ability  to  grasp  and  hold 
in  the  mind,  not  only  single  things,  but  the  connexions  and 
relations  of  things,  indicates  an  important  stage  in  the  de- 
velopment of  the  cognitive  powers. 

The  cognitive  aspects  of  the  mental  life,  or  the  strictly 
rational  functions  as  distinguished  from  the  directly  sensu- 
ous, perceptive,  and  representative,  are  a  matter  of  growth 
and  of  gradual  attainment.  The  concepts  of  the  little  child 
are  dominated  by  a  few  concrete  interests.  Things  are  con- 
ceived and  defined  on  the  basis  of  their  actions  or  uses;  what 
they  do,  and  what  they  are  for.  But  clearly  there  are  many 
other  bases  for  the  construction  of  the  concepts  of  things, 
besides  these.  Such  more  abstract  relations  as  whole  and 
part,  cause  and  effect,  genus  and  species,  become  the  bases 
of  concept  making  in  the  early  teens. 

It  has  long  been  customary  to  employ  the  terms  Concep- 
tion, Judgment  and  Reasoning,  to  indicate  those  processes 
of  the  cognitive  life  by  which  the  "  given  "  in  perception  is 
progressively  interpreted  by  being  gathered  up  under  gen- 
eral notions,  the  ideal  culmination  of  the  process  being  the 
reduction  of  all  the  "  manifold  "  contents  of  our  knowledge 
to  these  universal  notions  or  Ideas.  These  terms  may  still 
be  used,  and  each  of  them  stands  for  something  real  in  the 
process  of  thought;  but  scientific  study  of  the  nature  of  this 
process  has  rendered  necessary  some  modifications  of  the 
older  views  regarding  their  meaning  and  their  relation  to 


94     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

one  another.  It  is  no  longer  regarded  as  true  to  the  facts 
to  look  upon  concepts,  judgments  and  processes  of  inference 
as  essentially  different  in  kind,  or  as  following  one  another 
in  the  order  named;  nor  do  they  take  place  subsequently  to 
perception,  as  though  in  perception  the  mind  received  a 
stock  or  store  of  "  impressions,"  which,  in  conception,  judg- 
ment and  reasoning  are  rationalized  or  worked  up  into 
higher  cognitive  forms.  The  relation  in  which  all  these 
mental  acts  stand  to  one  another  is  not  a  relation  of  tem- 
poral succession.  Concepts  are  not  formed  "  after  "  per- 
cepts, strictly  speaking,  nor  are  judgments  "  after "  con- 
cepts. Perception  is  itself  already  judgment,  and  in  the  de- 
velopment of  the  structure  of  the  concept,  judgment  has 
played  its  part  as  the  essential  dynamic  factor.  The  very 
earliest  and  simplest  stages  of  knowledge,  as  when  an  infant 
recognizes  its  mother's  face  and  form  among  a  multitude  of 
other  things,  and  against  a  background,  say,  of  wall  and 
ceiling,  involves  a  sort  of  elementary  analysis  of  the 
"  given,"  and  a  discrimination  of  elements  in  this  total,  to- 
gether with  an  ascription  of  special  meaning  to  one  part  of 
the  total,  which  is  essentially  judgment.  When  he  recog- 
nizes her  in  different  attitudes,  in  different  clothing,  in  vari- 
ous surroundings,  he  gives  unmistakeable  proof  of  his  power 
to  grasp  the  element  that  is  identical  throughout  the  altera- 
tions in  the  circumstances  that  are  diverse  and  changeable; 
which  means  that  he  is  already  capable,  in  its  more  primitive 
forms,  to  be  sure,  of  that  cognitive  act,  which,  in  its  higher 
forms,  achieves  the  separation  of  the  universal  law  from 
the  particular  instances  of  its  operation. 

This  act,  which  in  its  essential  nature  is  the  same  every- 
where, whether  dealing  with  the  simple  data  of  sense  or 
elaborating  the  most  recondite  propositions  of  science  and 
philosophy,  is  judgment.  And  judgment,  as  so  defined,  is 
the  one  essential  process  in  all  'knowledge,  at  least  from  the 
point  of  view  of  progress  and  development.  The  percept, 
as  we  have  seen,  requires  it.  For  in  any  simple  percept, 
as  of  a  hat  or  a  pencil,  or  even  the  simple  "  awareness  "  of 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  THINK  95 

the  location  of  a  pain  in  some  part  of  the  body,  there  is  an 
analysis  of  the  given,  and  a  recognition  of  the  connexion 
between  certain  of  its  elements.  The  pain,  P,  is  in  the 
part  of  the  body  P1,  and  not  in  the  part  P2.  The  concept 
presupposes  it,  for  any  such  general  notion  as  "  food,"  for 
example,  is  a  subject  which  has  certain  fixed  predicates;  and 
these  predicates  have  become  fixed  in  the  subject  (that  is  to 
say,  certain  characters  have  been  built  into  the  structure  of 
the  subject)  by  that  selective  attention,  discrimination  and 
predication,  in  which  the  act  of  judgment  consists.  It  is 
hardly  necessary,  then,  or  even  strictly  justifiable,  to  dis- 
cuss these  so-called  forms  or  processes  of  logical  thought 
or  reasoning,  separately  from  one  another,  especially  in  a 
work  whose  special  object  is  not  to  provide  a  philosophy  of 
the  knowledge  process,  but  only  to  give  some  account  of  the 
characteristics  of  the  mind  of  youth. 

The  growth  of  the  cognitive  faculty,  or  the  progress  of 
the  mind  on  its  intellectual  side,  might  be  most  briefly  de- 
scribed as  progress  in  the  discernment  of  the  relevant,  or  in 
the  ability  to  distinguish  that  which  is  relevant,  in  any  given 
case,  from  that  which  is  irrelevant.  Expansion  of  the  men- ' 
tal  horizon  carries  with  it  perception  of  the  coherence  of  the 
parts  of  the  mental  field  with  one  another.  The  immature 
mind  holds  contradictory  notions  and  beliefs  side  by  side, 
in  serene  unconsciousness  of  their  incongruity.  The  cher- 
ished myths  of  the  nursery  contain  numberless  logical  im- 
possibilities, but  the  inhabitants  of  the  nursery  are  not 
troubled  at  all  by  that  fact.  Fancy  is  rampant,  and  logical 
discernment  is  not  yet  greatly  developed,  as  one  may  con- 
vince himself  by  observation.1  As  time  goes  on,  and  ex- 
periences multiply,  the  requirements  of  coherent  thinking 
become  recognized,  contradictions  are  less  tolerable,  and  the 
mind  is  able  to  distinguish  that  which  does,  from  that  which 
does  not,  dovetail  in  with  the  rest  of  one's  notions.  This 
is  only  another  way  of  saying  that  one's  concepts  are  be- 
coming corrected  and  made  true  by  the  operation  of  the 

1  See  Queyrat,  La  logique  de  I'Enfant,  Paris,  1902. 


96     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

judgment  function,  and  through  the  development  of  the 
reasoning  power.  The  progress  of  the  normal  mind  in  this 
respect  may  be  described,  from  another  point  of  view,  by 
saying  that  it  demands  the  true,  as  distinguished  from  the 
merely  pleasing,  with  increasing  peremptoriness. 

As  one  approaches  more  and  more  closely  to  the  adult 
stage,  the  instinct  for  truth,  the  thirst  for  knowledge,  and 
the  capacity  to  respond  to  the  demands  of  logical  system,  are 
noticeably  strengthened;  and  it  is  fitting  that  greater  de- 
mands in  this  direction  should  be  made,  both  in  the  home 
and  in  the  school.  In  the  earlier  teen  years,  it  is  true,  the 
demand  for  consistency  is  aesthetic  rather  than  logical,  aris- 
ing from  the  heart  more  than  from  the  head;  and  it  is  with 
a  keen  sense  of  this  that  President  Hall  and  others  have 
called  for  such  a  method,  in  the  teaching  of  most  subjects 
in  the  earlier  years  of  the  High  School  period,  as  shall  rec- 
ognise, and  accommodate  itself  to,  this  tendency.  It  may 
be  taken  as  established,  I  should  think,  that  practically  all 
subjects  should  be  taught  in  such  a  way  as  to  introduce  the 
pupil  first  to  the  living,  concrete,  and  human  sides  of  the 
subject-matter,  proceeding  thence  by  degrees  to  the  abstract 
and  formal.  In  other  words,  we  should  teach  all  subjects 
as  we  have  learned  to  teach  our  mother-tongue,  viz.,  be- 
ginning with  literature  and  composition,  and  proceeding 
through  these  to  the  abstract  rules  of  grammar. 

Many  forms  of  mental  activity  appear  to  reach  a  sort  of 
culminating  point  in  their  development  (apart  from  what 
may  be  accomplished  by  special  training)  about  the  age  of 
fifteen  or  sixteen  years.  The  curve  of  accuracy  in  judgments 
of  quantity  does  not  rise  so  rapidly,  if  at  all,  after  this  age 
has  been  passed.  Estimates  of  the  number,  size,  and  dis- 
tance of  objects,  are  greatly  increased  in  exactness  through 
the  entire  teen  age,  but  especially  about  the  middle  of  the 
period.  Moreover,  not  only  is  the  mind  better  able  to  judge 
the  quantitative  relations  of  objects  and  events  within  the 
more  limited  spatial  and  temporal  dimensions,  but  a  lively 
interest  is  awakened  also  in  the  vaster  areas  of  space  and 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  THINK  97 

the  greater  periods  of  time.  The  imagination  revels  in 
the  tremendous  distances  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  their  vast 
proportions,  and  their  stupendous  orbits;  and  quantitative 
comparisons  are  indulged  in  with  much  zest.  The  babe 
reaches  out  for  the  moon  and  the  stars  through  incapacity 
to  think  in  terms  of  distance ;  the  youth  also  reaches  out  for 
these  heavenly  bodies,  not  with  his  hands,  but  with  his  mind, 
through  sheer  joy  of  revelling  in  the  immensities  that 
stagger  the  imagination  and  baffle  thought.  The  mind 
dwells  with  something  like  intoxication,  on  such  calculations 
as  how  long  it  would  take  a  cannon  ball  to  reach  one  of 
the  fixed  stars,  or  how  many  pounds  of  wire  would  be  re- 
quired to  install  a  telephone  line  between  the  earth  and 
Uranus.  Many  of  the  simpler  and  more  familiar  mathe- 
matical truths,  moreover,  now  come  before  the  mind  with 
a  startling  newness  and  a  peculiar  fascination;  such  truths, 
for  example,  as  that  a  geometrical  straight  line  may  be  pro- 
duced to  any  length,  and  that  the  process  of  counting  may 
go  on  ad  infinitum,  and  yet  the  rules  of  number  apply,  no 
matter  how  large  the  numbers  may  be.  The  intellect  is 
feeling  its  own  powers,  and,  like  the  young  bird  trying  its 
wings,  flies  out  over  the  vast  reaches  of  space  and  time  with 
exhilaration  and  exultation.  Questions  are  asked  as  to  the 
age  of  the  world,  of  the  rocks  and  hills,  what  was  "  before 
the  beginning,"  and  what  will  be  "  after  the  end."  These 
questions  do  not  necessarily  betoken  any  special  fondness 
for  the  abstract  formulae  of  mere  measurement  and  calcula- 
tion; they  are  simply  an  expression  of  the  youthful  longing 
for  freedom  and  expansion  in  the  energies  of  the  mind. 

Statements  like  these,  however,  might  be  quite  misleading 
if  made  without  some  qualification.  They  describe  some  of 
the  moods  of  the  adolescent,  and  certain  features  of  his  in- 
tellectual development  which  mark  his  mind  off  from  that 
of  the  child,  but  they  are  not  intended  as  a  description  of 
his  constant  and  habitual  frame  of  mind.  No  one  can  as- 
sociate, much  with  High  School  boys  and  girls,  and  with 
College  Students,  without  being  well  aware  that  they  do  not 


98 

spend  their  whole  time  by  any  means  in  "  reaching  out  for 
the  infinite  "  nor  in  "  yearning  for  communion  with  the  un- 
seen." Fortunately,  a  very  large  part  of  their  attention  is 
given  to  things  that  are  emphatically  finite,  not  to  say  trivial 
and  commonplace;  to  jokes  and  horse  play,  to  nagging  and 
teasing  one  another,  to  reading  the  lightest  sort  of  litera- 
ture, to  outdoor  sport,  to  animals  and  plants,  and  to  candy 
and  cake.  Thus  they  are  saved  from  intellectual  precocity, 
from  metis  insana,  and  insanum  corpus.  But  that  they  are 
capable  of  the  more  serious  things,  and  of  the  deeper  long- 
ings and  aspiration,  and  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact  they  do 
dwell,  often  and  long,  upon  such  things,  is  evidence  of  the 
direction  in  which  their  minds  are  unfolding.  It  is  a  pres- 
age of  that  wider  linking  up  of  mental  associations,  that 
consolidation  of  mental  revenues,  that  belongs  to  the  mature 
intellect. 

Much  has  been  said  and  written  of  the  scepticism  and 
doubt  that  so  often  assail  the  minds  and  disturb  the  souls  of 
young  people  at  the  age  with  which  we  are  dealing.  That 
there  should  be  doubts  and  questionings  at  this  age  is  not  at 
all  to  be  wondered  at,  for  this  is  the  time  of  life  when  the 
mental  powers  expand  so  rapidly  as  to  break  through  the 
limitations  of  childhood.  The  dicta  of  external  authority 
are  no  longer  sufficient,  for  the  intellect  is  entering  into  its 
birthright  of  independent  judgment.  What  the  child  ac- 
cepts without  question,  and  assimilates  through  memory, 
the  youth  desires  to  think  out  for  himself,  and  make  it  his 
own  (provided  it  commends  itself  to  him)  through  his 
critical  judgment  and  reflection.  And  if,  in  this  process,  he 
encounters  problems  and  difficulties  that  stagger  and  un- 
settle him  for  the  time  being,  this  is  simply  a  part  of  the 
price  which  he  has  to  pay  for  the  privilege  of  growing  up. 
The  only  other  alternative  is  to  remain  a  child  forever.  At 
the  same  time  much  of  his  difficulty  and  mental  unrest  are 
due  to  a  temporary  loss  of  balance  through  the  surging  up 
of  the  emotional  nature,  as  well  as  to  the  fact  that  the  in- 
tellectual appetite  grows  faster  than  the  means  of  intellec- 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  THINK  99 

tual  digestion.  Ideas  too  big  for  easy  and  immediate  as- 
similation thrust  themselves  into  consciousness.  To  change 
the  figure,  it  is  as  though  a  boy  who  has  not  yet  learned  to 
swim  finds  himself  suddenly  thrown  into  water  that  is  be- 
yond his  depth.  It  does  not  follow  that  he  must  drown. 

The  doubt  and  scepticism  of  healthy  youth  are  very  rarely 
of  that  sad  type,  frequently  met  with  in  later  life,  in  which 
nescience  is  accepted  as  the  mind's  final  resting  place.  The 
spirit  of  youth  does  not  find  mere  negations  congenial  to  its 
temperament.  Its  doubt,  therefore,  is  not,  like  the  doubt 
of  the  ancient  Sceptics,  an  end  in  itself.  Rather  it  is  un- 
consciously what  the  Cartesian  doubt  was  consciously,  a 
means  to  certainty  and  truth. 

It  would  be  a  fortunate  circumstance  if  one  were  able  to 
say  that  the  intellectual  life  of  youth  is  beset  by  no  worse 
evils  than  sundry  doubts  and  difficulties,  more  or  less  tran- 
sient in  their  nature.  But  this  is  not  the  case.  Sometimes 
the  mind  is  not  merely  disturbed,  but  thrown  completely  out 
of  balance  for  the  time  being.  Not  only  is  it  beset  by  diffi- 
culties, but  obsessed  by  delusions  and  hallucinations.  In- 
sanity is  common  in  the  period.  Some  writers  claim  that 
there  is  a  pronounced  increase  in  the  number  of  cases  of 
mental  disorder  during  these  years;  while  others  point  out 
that  in  many  cases  mental  weakness  is  really  latent  in  in- 
fancy, and  becomes  manifest  only  under  the  increased  pres- 
sure of  the  adolescent  age. 

The  principal  causes  of  mental  aberration  at  this  age  have 
already  been  suggested  in  other  connexions.  The  psycho- 
physical  forces,  feeling,  and  thought  and  will  develop  rapidly 
now,  but  not  necessarily  in  strict  proportion.  Life  becomes 
very  intense,  but  with  some  loss  of  control.  Feeling  is 
powerful  but  eccentric.  Convictions  are  strong  but  not 
always  well  reasoned.  Moods  are  pronounced  and  yet 
.fickle  and  changing.  All  this  means  loss  of  balance  in  some 
form;  and  loss  of  balance  is  insanity. 

Almost  every  marked  tendency  of  adolescence,  as  dis- 
cussed in  previous  chapters,  and  to  be  discussed  in  later  ones, 


may  become  so  exaggerated  as  to  be  in  reality  a  form  of 
mental  unsoundness.  The  well-known  moodiness  of  young 
men  and  women,  which  makes  them  pass  from  extreme  de- 
pression and  melancholy  to  extreme  hilariousness,  and  back 
again,  has  its  roots,  no  doubt,  in  the  emotional  unsteadiness 
of  the  period.  Self-consciousness  becomes  acute,  self- 
scrutiny  and  introspection  may  develop  into  fixed  habits  that 
are  too  strong  to  be  overcome.  When  this  is  the  case,  all 
sorts  of  morbid  conditions  may  result,  including  melancholia, 
hysteria,  religious  "  crazes,"  and  hallucinations.  Moral 
earnestness  and  sincerity  sometimes  go  to  seed  in  a  hyper- 
critical self-examination  that  is  continually  fingering  its  own 
motives  and  condemning  every  action  because  no  motive 
proves  to  be  absolutely  free  from  alloy.  When  this  con- 
dition is  reached  the  subject  of  it  can  no  longer  be  regarded 
as  perfectly  sane. 

The  hopefulness  of  the  situation,  however,  lies  in  the  fact 
that  these  persons  are  young.  In  a  vast  majority  of  cases 
the  loss  of  balance  is  purely  temporary,  and  under  proper 
treatment  will  soon  correct  itself.  Simple  and  rational 
regimen,  out-of-door  life,  and  an  environment  that  beckons 
the  mind  away  from  itself,  are  the  chief  factors  in  the  re- 
covery of  the  mental  poise  that  has  been  lost,  as  well  as  in 
the  prevention  that  is  so  much  better  than  cure. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WILL,    OR   THE    CAPACITY  TO   ACT 

In  the  stricter  and  narrower  sense  will  means  only  that 
activity  which  is  under  the  complete  control  and  direction 
of  the  rational  powers.  It  is  the  faculty  of  deliberate  and 
ideational  action,  wherein  the  end  of  the  action  is  foreseen 
and  intended,  the  agent  identifying  himself  with  that  end, 
and  putting  forth  his  active  powers  to  realize  it.  In  the 
wider  and  less  accurate  sense,  will  may  be  defined  as  includ- 
ing the  entire  life  of  expression,  or  the  sum-total  of  the  out- 
going tendencies,  including  all  impulses,  instincts  and  reflexes, 
in  so  far  as  they  issue,  or  tend  to  issue,  in  movements  of  the 
muscles,  direction  of  the  intellectual  life,  or  control  of  the 
feelings. 

No  satisfactory  account  of  will  in  the  former  of  these 
two  senses  can  be  given  by  itself  alone.  For  the  activity  of 
will,  as  deliberate  and  reasoned  action,  has  its  roots  and  the 
conditions  of  its  possibility  in  all  those  unreasoned  elements 
of  the  total  psychic  life  which  are  included  in  the  latter 
use  of  the  term.  The  psychology  of  the  will,  therefore,  is  a 
broad  term,  and  should  include  a  full  account  of  all  the 
psychic  and  neural  conditions  (many  of  them  deeply  em- 
bedded in  the  subconscious  or  the  unconscious  life)  upon 
which  will  in  the  stricter  sense  depends  for  its  raw  materials 
as  well  as  for  the  native  forces  which  it  has  to  control,  direct, 
and  co-ordinate,  in  harmony  with  the  ideas  of  reason  and  in 
pursuance  of  its  ends.  In  earlier  chapters  we  have  spoken 
of  the  most  important  of  these  primary  psychic  and  neural 
factors;  we  should  now  endeavor  to  point  out  their  relation 
to  the  full-blown  activity  of  will,  and  the  part  they  play  in 
providing  the  conditions  of  its  development. 

101 


To  begin  with ;  everyone  is  familiar  with  the  fact  that  the 
physical  organism  is  provided  with  a  vast  number  of  nerve 
fibres  or  threads,  by  which  the  organs  of  sense  are  con- 
nected with  the  brain  cells,  and  these  latter  with  one  an- 
other and  with  the  muscles.  The  distinctive  property  of 
these  nerve  fibres  is  conductivity;  that  is  to  say,  their  func- 
tion is  to  transmit  impressions  throughout  their  entire 
length.  They  are  divided  into  two  classes,  according  as 
they  transmit  impressions  inward,  from  the  organs  of  sense 
to  the  brain,  or  outward,  from  the  brain  to  the  muscles. 
A  third  class  may  be  added,  of  those  nerves  by  which  the 
parts  of  the  brain  are  connected  with  one  another.  These 
latter  are  known  as  association  fibres,  while  those  that  con- 
vey impressions  inward  are  called  the  sensory  nerves,  and 
those  that  convey  impressions  outward  to  the  muscles,  are 
known  as  motor  nerves,  since  the  normal  result  of  their 
action  is  muscular  contraction  of  some  sort.  Both  the  sen- 
sory and  the  motor  nerves  are  connected  with  the  brain  by 
way  of  the  spinal  cord.  The  system  thus  roughly  de- 
scribed is  named  the  cerebro-spinal  system.  It  is  the  in- 
dispensable physical  medium  for  all  our  intellectual  and 
volitional  processes.  Without  it,  so  far  as  we  can  see,  no 
sensations  of  sight,  hearing,  or  any  of  the  other  senses, 
could  ever  be  received  in  consciousness,  nor  could  any  re- 
sponse be  made  to  them  if  they  were  received. 

There  is  a  second  system  of  nerves,  less  thoroughly  un- 
derstood, lying  in  the  depths  of  the  physical  organism,  and 
connecting  the  various  vital  organs,  and  their  parts,  with 
one  another.  This  is  called  the  sympathetic  system.  It  is 
the  medium  of  no  knowledge  concerning  the  outer  world, 
as  the  cerebro-spinal  system  is,  but  it  reflects  the  general 
condition  of  the  vital  organs  themselves.  The  action  of 
these  nerves  is  the  physical  basis  of  the  vaguer  emotional 
states;  and  they  are  closely  connected  with  those  fluctuations 
in  our  moods  and  tempers  which  we  designate  by  such  terms 
as  low-spiritedness,  irritability,  and  their  opposites.  Many 
of  those  fluctuations  in  one's  spirits,  which  seem  to  come 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  ACT  103 

from  no  cause,  and  of  which  it  is  often  so  difficult  to  give 
any  explanation,  are  due  to  some  slight  alteration,  for  the 
better  or  the  worse,  in  the  general  condition  of  some  of  the 
vital  organs;  in  consequence  of  which  the  individual  be- 
comes aware  of  an  alteration  in  his  mental  tone,  in  the  way 
of  depression  or  exaltation.  The  neural  basis  and  condi- 
tion of  this  is  the  sympathetic  system. 

The  importance  of  the  will,  understood  as  the  total  re- 
action of  the  individual  to  the  forces  that  play  upon  him 
from  the  environment,  and  to  the  influences  that  come  from 
his  instinctive  and  impulsive  tendencies  within,  is  recog- 
nized with  special  fulness  by  the  psychology  of  our  day. 
It  is  perceived  that  the  intellect  by  itself  would  forever  re- 
main inert  and  sterile  apart  from  the  will;  or  rather,  that 
the  energy  and  fertility  of  the  intellect  is  due  to  the  fact 
that  in  its  operations,  as  they  result  in  knowledge,  the  essen- 
tial thing  is  the  active  work  of  the  mind,  through  which  it 
subdues  to  itself  the  scattered  data  of  sense,  reducing  them 
to  the  unity  of  its  own  apperceptive  synthesis;  and  this  is 
essentially  an  activity  of  will.  In  the  act  of  cognition  will 
is  involved.  Judgment,  the  essential  form  of  all  knowledge 
activity,  always  embodies  a  focus  and  a  synthesis.  In  any 
judgment,  A  is  B,  the  subject  A  represents  the  point  where 
the  cognitive  act  focuses,  while  the  predicate  B  represents 
some  idea  which  is  united  with  A  in  the  judgment  act.  The 
judgment,  then,  is  essentially  an  act.  So  with  all  the  proces- 
ses of  the  mind.  They  all  alike  represent,  each  in  its  own 
way,  the  activity  of  the  mind,  and  this  activity  is  will. 
The  will  is  not  an  entity  or  a  faculty  standing  by  itself,  and 
co-ordinate  with  the  other  faculties  of  the  mind,  as  we  have 
already  pointed  out,  but  one  of  the  essential  features  or 
characteristics  of  the  totality  of  the  life  of  mind.  Every 
form  of  mental  experience  tends  to  be  expressive,  to  focus 
and  utter  itself  in  some  sort  of  response  or  reaction.  The 
form  which  this  response  or  reaction  takes  habitually  and 
commonly,  is  the  best  index  to  the  character  of  the  man.  A 
man  is  his  total  reaction  to  the  conditions  of  his  life.  He 


io4     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

may  be  judged  by  the  manner  in  which  he  adjusts  himself, 
or  fails  to  adjust  himself,  to  his  environment,  and  by  the 
manner  in  which  he  adjusts  that  environment,  or  fails  to  ad- 
just it,  to  himself.  Some  recent  writers  have  even  gone  to 
the  length  of  saying  that  the  test  of  truth  itself  lies  in  the 
possibility  of  its  being  applied  or  worked  out  in  the  actual 
conditions  of  life.  This  position  may  be  accepted  if  the 
phrase  "  being  applied  "  be  taken  in  a  sufficiently  broad 
sense.  To  put  a  proposition  to  the  test  by  seeking  to  de- 
termine whether  it  can  enter  into  the  totality  of  my  judg- 
ments without  destroying  the  harmony  and  integrity  of  the 
whole  system  of  judgments,  is  to  "  apply "  that  propo- 
sition. For  the  process  by  which  the  test  is  made  is  a 
process  of  will  as  really  as  it  is  a  process  of  intellect.  And 
if  the  fact  is  once  recognised  that  the  will-element  permeates 
the  entire  life,  including  the  cognitive,  it  is  difficult  to  see 
how  anything  new  has  been  added  to  the  conception  of  the 
essential  nature  of  mind  by  the  Pragmatist  doctrine. 

A  cardinal  feature  of  the  unfolding  of  the  psychic  life  on 
its  conative  or  expressive  side  is  the  gradual  progress 
towards  complete  government  of  the  behavior  by  ideas 
rather  than  by  the  force  of  feeling,  by  ends  and  purposes 
instead  of  driving  impulses  and  animal  instincts,  by  reasons 
rather  than  by  causes.  It  has  long  been  a  maxim  of  philo- 
sophy and  a  fundamental  principle  of  education  that  the 
higher  type  of  mind  life  is  that  in  which  reason  governs  and 
feelings  obey;  in  which  the  harmony  and  sanity  of  the  entire 
psycho-physical  organism  is  preserved  and  furthered  by  the 
vigorous  activity  of  intelligence.  The  opposite  type,  that 
in  which  every  passing  feeling,  if  it  happens  to  be  suffi- 
ciently strong,  sways  and  determines,  for  the  time  being  at 
least,  the  person's  behavior,  is  everywhere  regarded  as  a 
lower  and  less  desirable  type.  Many  reasons  have  been 
given  for  this  preference  for  the  mind  that  is  controlled  by 
ideas,  over  that  controlled  by  feeling;  chief  among  which 
are  these:  that  feeling  and  impulse  are  blind,  not  seeing  afar 
off;  that  they  are  incapable  of  any  real  appreciation  of  rela- 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  ACT  105 

tive  values;  that  they  are  fitful,  giving  no  guarantee  of  any 
such  sobriety  and  stability  as  are  required,  if  the  personality 
is  to  make  the  most  of  himself  in  a  world  which  is  the  em- 
bodiment of  order,  regularity,  and  law;  and  that,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact  and  history,  passion  uncontrolled  by  rational  in- 
sight is  almost  certain  to  lead  its  subject  into  courses  of 
conduct  that  are  detrimental  to  his  whole  being. 

In  close  relation  to  this  general  view,  we  find  first  of  all 
on  the  physiological  level,  that  the  whole  process  that  ends 
with  the  contraction  of  a  muscle  may  occur  on  more  than 
one  plane.  The  transition  from  the  ingoing  to  the  out- 
going process,  from  the  stimulation  of  an  afferent  to  the 
stimulation  of  an  efferent  nerve,  may  be  mediated  through 
the  lower  and  less  complex  centers,  or  through  the  higher 
and  more  complex  centers.  In  the  former  case  the  entire 
process  runs  itself  off  smoothly  and  easily,  by  the  most  di- 
rect route,  as  it  were;  in  the  latter  case  there  are  sundry 
checks,  the  counteraction  of  other  currents,  and  a  certain 
amount  of  delay  in  the  completion  of  the  process.  Fur- 
ther, on  the  psychological  level,  where  mental  processes 
are  involved,  there  are  again  different  planes  on  which  the 
process  may  complete  itself.  Corresponding  to  the  lower 
and  less  complex  neural  and  muscular  process  we  have  the 
lower  and  less  complex  psychical  process,  in  which  impres- 
sions, ideas,  feelings,  and  the  like,  issue  directly  in  action, 
with  a  minimum  of  check  or  control  from  the  higher  ra- 
tional self.  Corresponding  to  the  higher  and  more  com- 
plex neural  and  muscular  process  we  have  the  higher  and 
more  complex  psychical  process,  in  which  impressions,  feel- 
ings and  the  like  are  not  permitted  to  issue  directly  in  ac- 
tion, but  are  held  up,  as  it  were,  checked  by  other  impres- 
sions, and  by  conceptions  and  purposes,  and  swung  into  this 
or  that  channel  and  permitted  egress  through  this  or  that 
volitional  outlet,  according  to  the  verdict  that  has  been 
reached,  after  deliberation,  as  to  their  worthiness  so  to 
issue.  In  other  words,  the  higher  form  of  behavior  is 
marked  by  control,  reflection,  and  the  appraisement  of  ends 


106     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

and  purposes,  and  of  proposed  actions  in  relation  to  those 
ends.  This  latter  type  of  behavior  is  called  ideational,  or 
volitional  in  the  strict  and  proper  sense,  and  as  distinguished 
from  the  reflex  or  merely  instinctive. 

The  important  point  in  reference  to  this  checking  of  im- 
pulses by  the  higher  reason  does  not  lie  in  the  fact  that 
the  check  is  apt  to  delay  the  movement  and  compel  it  to 
proceed  more  slowly.  The  question  of  the  duration  of 
the  movement  is  neither  here  nor  there.  Some  reflex  move- 
ments may  be  slow  and  some  ideational  movements  may  be 
swift.  Indeed,  it  is  one  of  the  marks  of  a  well  trained  will 
that  decisions  are  reached  swiftly,  and  issue  in  their  appro- 
priate movements  promptly.  One  of  the  forms  of  the  de- 
fective will,  is,  as  Professor  James  has  pointed  out,  the  ob- 
structed will.  The  over-hesitant  mind,  in  which  the  "  native 
hue  of  resolution  is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of 
thought  "  so  that  action  is  unduly  postponed,  cannot  but  be 
regarded  as  abnormal.  The  essential  thing  in  a  healthy 
mind  is  control  and  direction.  It  is  well  that  such  control 
and  direction  should  be  as  swift  as  the  occasion  may  require, 
but  it  is  the  control  itself,  apart  from  its  speed,  that  marks 
the  mind  of  the  higher  type. 

Now  if  we  study  the  mental  life  on  its  outgoing  or  voli- 
tional side,  as  it  develops  from  infancy  to  maturity,  we  shall 
observe  progressive  achievement  in  the  rational  control  of 
movements.  The  acts  of  an  infant  are  the  direct  and  un- 
mediated  response  of  the  physical  or  the  psycho-physical 
organism  to  the  impressions  and  feelings  that  arise  within 
it  or  are  produced  by  contact  with  its  environment.  The 
movements  of  a  well-disciplined  adult  are  directed  and  con- 
trolled by  conceptions  and  purposes.  This  does  not  mean 
that  all  the  movements  of  the  adult  are  thus  directed  (for 
among  those  movements  there  are  many  that  have  become 
habitual  and  so  secondarily  automatic,  as  well  as  many  that 
are  impulsive  and  instinctive)  but  that  the  mature  mind 
has  acquired  the  power  and  the  habit  of  acting  under  the 
guidance  of  conceptions  and  purposes.  Between  the  move- 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  ACT  107 

ments  of  an  infant,  with  a  minimum  of  control  by  ideas,  and 
those  of  a  well-disciplined  adult,  with  a  maximum  of  such 
control,  there  are  of  course,  all  conceivable  intermediate  de- 
grees. It  is  characteristic  of  childhood  in  general  to  be 
deficient  in  volitional  control,  but  the  process  of  establish- 
ing that  control  begins  very  early,  as  early  as  the  first  ex- 
perience of  the  checking  of  one  impulse  by  another,  or  of 
the  clash  of  two  ideas  in  their  motor  tendencies.  But  it 
is  notoriously  true  of  children  that  they  act  directly  upon  the 
feeling  or  idea  of  the  moment.  Every  mental  content  tends 
to  issue,  without  let  or  hindrance,  along  the  channels  of 
motor  expression.  The  sensori-motor  reflex  process  com- 
pletes itself  without  interference  from  within.  Through 
experience  of  the  pleasurable  or  painful  results  of  these 
movements,  and  through  instruction,  training,  and  discipline, 
a  measure  of  control  is  soon  established,  which  develops 
steadily  through  the  first  dozen  years  of  life.  I  have  not 
observed  any  very  pronounced  periodicity  during  these 
years,  in  the  average  child,  in  regard  to  this  particular  fea- 
ture of  growth,  except  in  so  far  as  any  marked  accelera- 
tion of  bodily  growth  seems  to  be  accompanied  by  a  rela- 
tive loss  of  control,  not  because  the  actual  power 
of  control  is  less,  but  because  the  forces  that  have  to  be 
controlled  are  greater.  But  these  accelerations  of  growth 
are  not  apt  to  be  sufficiently  marked,  in  this  period,  to  in- 
terfere seriously  with  the  balance  of  power  in  the  organ- 
ism. On  the  other  hand,  periods  of  slow  growth  are  periods 
favorable  for  the  formation  of  habits,  and  educators  gen- 
erally recognize  the  desirability  of  training  the  will,  espe- 
cially in  the  years  from  eight  to  twelve,  in  such  a  way  as  to 
form  a  large  number  of  useful  habits. 

With  the  coming  of  puberty  however,  the  changes  are  so 
marked  and  the  growth  so  rapid  for  a  time,  as  to  disturb  this 
quiet  equilibrium  of  the  inner  life.  Feelings,  impulses,  in- 
stinctive tendencies,  desires  and  appetites,  exert  themselves 
with  new  power;  and  the  problem  of  control  becomes  for  a 
time  more  difficult.  We  have  pointed  out  in  an  earlier  chap- 


I08      THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

ter  that  adolescence  is  the  age  of  moods,  whims,  fancies  and 
fluctuations  of  feeling  that  seem  almost  inexplicable,  or  for 
which,  at  all  events,  there  is  no  ready  and  obvious  explana- 
tion. Now  these  changing  feelings  and  moods  exert  a 
powerful  influence  on  conduct;  so  that  the  adolescent  is  ad- 
mitted to  be  the  most  unstable  of  beings.  Attention  has 
been  called  by  many  observers  to  his  fitfulness,  and  to  the 
unpredictable  character  of  his  behavior.  He  may  be  vacil- 
lating to  a  marked  degree.  His  interests  wax  and  wane 
according  to  the  conditions  of  his  physical  being,  and  his 
activities  follow  his  interests.  Hence  he  may  be  very  life- 
less and  dull  at  one  time  and  overflowing  with  energy  and 
enthusiasm  at  another.  There  is  probably  no  other  human 
being  who  can  be,  upon  occasion,  so  utterly  lazy  and  "  shift- 
less "  as  an  adolescent  boy,  unless  it  be  an  adolescent  girl. 
And  there  is  probably  no  other  human  being  who,  if  the 
mood  takes  him,  can  throw  himself  with  such  prodigious 
energy  and  vim,  into  any  undertaking  upon  which  he  sets  his 
heart.  As  there  are  times  when  the  adolescent  seems  to 
have  no  vigor  or  life  about  him,  and  the  least  exertion  is 
irksome,  so  there  are  other  times  when  quiescence  is  an  intol- 
erable burden.  Everything  must  be  done  at  once,  and  done 
at  high  pressure.  At  such  times  his  energy  is  amazing,  and 
the  amount  of  work  which  he  will  perform  almost  incred- 
ible. Games,  especially  those  in  which  rival  teams  contend 
for  the  mastery,  are  played  with  absolute  abandon  and 
furore.  Long  walks,  long  rides,  long  excursions  by  boat  , 
or  canoe,  hill  climbing  expeditions,  snow-shoeing  trips  in  the 
face  of  freezing  winds  and  fierce  storms,  are  undertaken 
and  carried  out  with  a  zest  and  a  vim  that  testify  to  some 
great  need  of  the  inner  nature  that  is  being  met  and  satisfied 
in  these  exertions.  Exposure  to  wet,  cold,  heat  and  storm, 
is  thoroughly  enjoyed,  especially  by  boys;  and  every  mother 
knows  how  these  boys  come  home  from  such  trips  and 
labors  with  appetites  that  sweep  everything  before  them. 

It  is  quite  true  that  the  psychological  law  of  interest  goes 
far  towards  accounting  for  these  things.     It  is  quite  true, 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  ACT  109 

not  only  of  the  adolescent,  but  of  persons  of  any  and  every 
age,  that  eager,  enthusiastic  activity  is  dependent  on  interest, 
and  does  not  take  place  without  it.  Where  interest  in  any 
course  of  action  is  completely  lacking,  it  is  impossible  for 
any  of  us  to  throw  himself  enthusiastically  into  that  course 
of  action.  And  this  is  as  true,  more  true,  if  possible,  in 
the  teens,  than  at  any  other  period  of  life.  And  yet  it 
does  not  appear  to  account  for  the  whole  of  the  facts.  For 
the  transition  from  activity  to  lassitude  often  takes  place 
too  quickly,  it  would  seem,  to  admit  of  explanation  by  the 
dying  out  of  interest;  and  the  change  from  lassitude  to  ac- 
tivity often  seems  to  take  place  without  any  obvious  cause 
for  a  sudden  revival  of  interest.  The  full  explanation  re- 
quires that  we  recognize  the  currents  of  feeling  and  im- 
pulse that  are  making  themselves  felt  below  the  threshold. 
These  currents  have  increased  in  volume  and  power  more 
rapidly  than  the  forces  by  which  they  are  regulated  and  con- 
trolled. This  is  more  noticeable  in  the  earlier  period  of 
adolescence,  when  feeling  outruns  reason,  than  in  the  later 
period,  when  reason  is  rapidly  overtaking  feeling. 

It  is  an  instructive  study  to  place  side  by  side,  for  examin- 
ation and  comparison,  the  child,  the  boy  of  nine  to  twelve, 
the  boy  of  thirteen  to  sixteen,  and  the  youth  of  seventeen  to 
twenty.  From  the  standpoint  of  the  growth  of  will,  they 
may  be  described  as  follows:  in  the  child  you  find  instincts 
and  impulses  operating  with  a  minimum  of  internal  check 
or  control,  and  with  only  such  external  control  as  is  able 
to  set  up  a  counter  current  to  the  operating  impulse.  This 
external  facto  •  exerts  its  power  by  offering  something  that 
appeals  to  the  instinct  of  imitation,  or  gratifies  some  de- 
sire, or  uses  the  instrumentality  of  pain  by  way  of  deterrent. 
Through  repetition  and  association,  habits  of  action  begin 
to  form,  and  in  the  next  period  (nine  to  twelve)  this  is 
perhaps  the  outstanding  fact,  from  the  point  of  view  of  will- 
growth.  The  area  of  ideation  is  of  course  becoming  much 
enlarged,  and  whole  new  orders  of  ideas  are  coming  into 
active  relation  to  the  motor  equipment.  It  is  also  true  that 


no     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

progress  is  made  in  the  direction  of  independence  and 
automony  of  will.  But  after  all,  the  consolidation  of  the 
motor  mechanism  in  the  way  of  habit-formation  is  the  most 
conspicuous  feature  of  the  period. 

In  the  adolescent  period,  while  habit-forming  continues, 
along  with  practically  all  the  other  characteristics  of  the 
previous  periods,  the  transference  of  control  from  without 
to  within  undergoes  a  marked  acceleration.  And  yet  this 
control  is  by  no  means  securely  achieved  in  the  first  half  of 
this  period  (thirteen  to  sixteen).  As  we  have  said,  equilib- 
rium is  unstable.  Feeling  is  prone  to  be  tumultuous  and 
riotous.  Quiet,  painstaking  thought  is  not  easy.  There  is 
much  capriciousness  of  moods  and  fancies.  As  Sir  W. 
Robertson  Nicoll  remarks,  "  at  fourteen  the  insurgent  years 
begin."  J  The  young  adolescent  scarcely  has  himself  well 
in  hand.  In  the  latter  half  of  the  period  (seventeen /to 
twenty)  most  young  people  give  distinct  evidence  that  the  ' 
motor  machinery  is  becoming  more  regulated,  and  is  under 
more  effectual  government.  Thought  is  beginning  to  over- 
take feeling.  Action  is  less  frequently  the  outcome  of  im- 
pulse, and  more  frequently  the  outcome  of  deliberation. 
The  higher  centers  of  ideation  are  involved  in  the  responses 
of  the  individual  to  the  impressions  that  come  into  his  con- 
sciousness. Impression  issues  in  expression,  neither  so  di- 
rectly on  the  sensori-motor  reflex  level,  as  in  the  child,  nor 
so  largely  in  the  way  of  habitual  reaction,  as  in  the  boy,  nor 
as  the  direct  result  of  feeling,  as  in  the  adolescent  of  the 
early  period.  Action  from  motives,  in  the  strict  sense  of  . 
that  term,  takes  place  more  commonly  than  at  any  previous 
time  in  the  life.  And  with  the  full  attainment  of  this  con- 
dition all  the  elements  that  enter  into  the  character  of  ma- 
turity are  already  present.  The  difference  between  maturity 
and  immaturity  is  a  difference  of  degree.  In  no  normal 
child  is  the  element  of  inner  control  entirely  wanting;  and 
in  no  adult  is  that  control  absolutely  constant,  reliable,  and 
complete.  But  all  through  the  teens  there  is  going  on  a 

1  Nicoll,   The  Children  for  the  Church,  London,   1913,  p.  77. 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  ACT  in 

great  training  in  self-mastery.  And  if  that  self-mastery  is 
not  achieved  by  the  end  of  this  period,  at  least  in  such  mea- 
sure as  to  ensure  a  strong  and  well-poised  manhood,  the  fault 
probably  lies,  either  in  some  defective  condition  of  mind  or 
body,  or  in  some  failure  of  the  educational  process. 
"Spoiled  children"  are  well  named;  for  in  their  case, 
through  the  lack  of  external  control  in  the  early  years,  the 
capacity  for  internal  control  has  been  dwarfed  at  the  out- 
set, and  the  whole  plan  of  life  marred  and  spoiled. 

Control  is  both  negative  and  positive.  On  the  positive 
side  it  means  direction  and  regulation  of  action;  on  the  neg- 
ative side  it  means  repression  of  undesirable  acts,  or  inhibi- 
tion of  the  promptings  to  such  acts.  Both  these  are  im- 
portant. From  the  standploint  of  education,  the  power  to 
inhibit  is  as  necessary  as  the  power  to  initiate;  and  both 
should  become  fixed  in  the  structure  of  habitual  behavior. 

Control,  in  reference  to  the  movements  of  the  body,  in- 
volves dexterity  in  the  use  of  the  limbs,  promptness  of  re- 
action to  stimuli,  energy  and  precision  in  movement.  Con- 
trol in  the  full  sense  carries  with  it  also  the  element  of  in- 
dependence of  foreign  suggestion,  not  in  the  sense  that  the 
person  who  has  developed  his  power  of  control  is  imper- 
vious to  suggestions  from  others,  but  in  the  sense  that  he  is 
not  the  slave  of  those  suggestions.  He  can,  when  he  will, 
act  independently  of  them.  He  can  act  upon  his  own  initia- 
tive, and  in  spite  of  the  influences  of  the  environment. 

Observations  of  the  sexes  show  a  slight  superiority  on 
the  part  of  the  boy,  over  the  girl  of  the  same  physiological 
age,  in  the  various  elements  of  control  mentioned  above. 
Rather  more  energy,  promptness,  precision,  and  dexterity, 
in  most  kinds  of  movements,  belongs  to  the  male.  Espe- 
cially is  this  the  case  in  the  matter  of  energy,  and  in  the 
matter  of  independence.  All  young  people  are  pro- 
nouncedly open  to  suggestion,  but  girls  particularly  so.  On 
the  other  hand,  all  young  people  are  developing  indepen- 
dence of  judgment  and  action,  but  boys  particularly  so.  It 
is  not  quite  so  easy  to  infer  individual  action  from  group  ac- 


ii2      THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

tion,  in  the  case  of  a  boy,  as  it  is  in  the  case  of  a  girl.  All 
young  persons  are  strongly  inclined  to  do  what  is  being  done 
by  others  about  them,  but  girls  particularly  so.  "  What  is 
being  done  by  those  about  them  "  means  not  only  what  is 
being  done  by  their  elders,  but  also  what  is  being  done  by 
their  young  companions.  The  suggestion  carried  by  the 
social  unit  to  which  they  belong,  the  class  at  school,  the 
family  at  home,  the  permanent  club,  or  the  more  evanescent 
gathering  of  a  single  occasion,  finds  them  highly  susceptible. 
But  while  both  sexes  are  sensitive  to  the  influence  of  the 
social  unit,  that  sensitiveness  is  greater  among  girls  than 
among  boys,  and  their  response  is  more  direct,  simple  and 
unhesitating.  They  are  less  disposed  to  call  in  question  that 
which  has  the  sanction  of  social  custom.  As  has  been  re- 
marked, boys  are  more  disposed  to  be  pathfinders,  girls  to 
be  path-followers. 

These  statements  of  course  are  meant  to  be  taken  rela- 
tively and  by  way  of  comparison.  The  fact  is  that  in  both 
sexes  the  tendency  to  imitation,  and  the  disposition  to  strike 
out  into  independent  action,  develop  together.  Imitation  it- 
self becomes  more  conscious,  and,  if  the  word  may  be  per- 
mitted, deliberate.  Concrete  personalities,  characters  as  a 
whole,  impress  the  mind,  and  awaken  response  in  the  way 
of  reproduction  of  the  characteristic  actions  of  those  per- 
sons. Imitation  has  reference  now  to  the  larger  whole  of 
an  entire  personality,  rather  than  to  the  lesser  whole  of  a 
single  momentary  act.  And  so  I  apply  the  word  "  deliber- 
ate "  to  this  imitation,  because  it  carries  with  it,  and  pre- 
supposes, a  conscious  response  to  the  impression  produced 
by  some  personality  as  a  whole,  and  therefore  some  mental 
occupation  with  such  total  personality. 

Hence  imitation  and  growing  independence  of  action  may 
very  well  go  together;  for  such  imitation  as  I  have  de- 
scribed is  not  at  all  incompatible  with  independent  action. 
And  both  alike  are  possible  because  the  mind  is  now  able 
to  grasp  these  large  totals;  on  the  one  hand  a  total  per- 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  ACT  1131 

sonality  worthy  of  imitation,  and  on  the  other  a  type  or 
kind  of  conduct  regarded  as  worthy  to  be  performed. 

It  is  a  well-recognised  law  of  the  development  of  muscular 
control  and  ability,  that  the  larger  and  more  fundamental 
muscles  come  into  play  earlier,  and  the  finer  and  more  ac- 
cessory muscles  later.  E.g.,  the  muscles  of  the  trunk  are 
under  control  before  those  of  the  fingers;  those  of  the  legs 
as  a  whole  before  those  of  the  toes  separately.  This  is 
the  natural  order,  as  in  most  cases  the  effective  use  of  the 
finer  muscles  cannot  be  made  unless  the  larger  muscles  are 
already  under  control.  The  use  of  the  larger  muscles  is 
more  vital,  more  absolutely  essential,  and  so  passes  more 
readily  under  the  domain  of  habit,  as  their  action  was  in 
the  first  place  more  instinctive,  and  more  closely  connected 
with  the  fundamental  needs  of  the  organism.  In  the  period 
just  preceding  puberty  the  larger  and  more  fundamental 
muscles  are  much  used,  and  correspondingly  much  de- 
veloped; but  in  the  adolescent  period  the  finer  muscles,  those 
more  closely  connected  with  some  special  skill,  as  distin- 
guished from  general  activity,  are  increasingly  used;  as 
though  nature  were  putting  the  youth  through  his  appren- 
ticeship to  the  business  of  life,  in  which  all  the  resources  of 
his  personal  equipment  are  likely  to  be  of  service,  and  any 
one  of  which,  or  any  group  of  which,  may  be  called  into  re- 
quisition at  any  time. 

The  subject  of  habit-formation  should  be  discussed  under 
the  general  head  of  Will,  or  in  close  connexion  with  that 
topic.  Habit  is  a  matter  of  the  greatest  importance  at 
every  period  of  life,  but  in  mature  and  later  life  its  im- 
portance consists  chiefly  in  what  one  may  call  its  irrevocable- 
ness.  That  is  to  say,  habits  are  formed,  broken,  and  modi- 
fied, almost  wholly  in  pre-adult  days.  Then  the  whole 
psycho-physical  organism  is  plastic  and  susceptible;  whereas 
in  later  years  the  plasticity  and  susceptibility  have  become 
greatly  diminished.  The  whole  being  is  fast  settling  into 
grooves  from  which  it  will  not  again  wholly  escape;  the 


n4     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

man  and  the  woman  are  already,  even  at  twenty-five,  getting 
into  fixed  ways  of  doing  things,  and  with  every  passing  year 
the  ways  are  more  and  more  fixed. 

Habit  has  its  physiological  basis  and  possibility  in  the 
fact  of  the  modifiability  of  all  living  nervous  and  muscular 
tissue;  which  means  that  the  structure  of  this  tissue  is  al- 
tered whenever  any  movement  is  made.  Every  stimula- 
tion of  a  nerve,  and  every  contraction  of  a  muscle,  has  some 
effect  on  the  structure  of  that  nerve  or  muscle,  which  tends 
to  make  that  stimulation  or  contraction  a  little  easier  to 
achieve  and  a  little  more  likely  to  take  place  again.  The 
familiar  figure  of  a  pathway,  worn  smoother  and  smoother 
by  the  daily  passage  of  travellers,  may  be  used,  if  it  is  not 
understood  too  literally.  There  are  no  actual  pathways  in 
the  brain,  or  nerves,  or  muscles;  and  yet  it  is  certain  that 
processes  occurring  in  these  media  tend  to  recur,  and  that 
tendency,  roughly  speaking,  is  strong  in  proportion  to  the 
number  of  times  the  process  occurs.  I  say  "  roughly,"  be- 
cause there  are  several  conditions  that  must  be  taken  into 
account  in  calculating  the  influence  of  a  movement  in  predis- 
posing the  organism  to  its  repetition.  For  example,  the 
hedonic  quality  of  the  feelings  that  accompany  the  move- 
ment exercises  the  greatest  influence.  Movements  that 
cause  pain  are  not  likely  to  set  up  tendencies  facilitating 
their  own  repetition.  The  average  child  does  not  tend  to 
form  the  habit  of  putting  his  hands  on  the  hot  stove. 
Again,  if  a  sufficiently  wide  interval  of  time  is  allowed  to 
elapse  between  the  first  and  second,  the  second  and  third, 
the  third  and  fourth,  or  any  other  pair  of  successive  per- 
formances of  the  movement,  the  tendency  fades  out  in  these 
long  intervals  (the  pathway  becomes  overgrown)  and  the 
habit  is  broken  up,  or  fails  to  form.  The  practical  lesson 
from  this,  of  course,  is  that  if  one  wishes  to  form  a  certain 
habit,  he  should  perform  the  requisite  movements  fre- 
quently, or  at  short  intervals;  if  he  wishes  to  break  up  a 
habit  already  formed,  or  in  process  of  formation,  or  to  pre- 
vent the  formation  of. a  certain  habit,  he  should  make  the 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  ACT  115 

intervals  as  wide  as  possible;  or,  better  still,  refrain  alto- 
gether from  the  act. 

Again,  apart  from  the  number  of  repetitions  of  the  act, 
and  their  closeness  together  in  time,  the  vigor  of 
their  performance  and  the  amount  of  energy  and  at- 
tention put  into  them  must  be  reckoned  with.  Movements 
that  are  made  with  but  little  attention,  with  only  evanes- 
cent interest,  with  a  lack  of  enthusiasm,  and  so  with  a  mini- 
mum of  energy  and  vigor,  do  not  leave  deep  traces  behind, 
and  do  not,  therefore,  predispose  the  organism  so  strongly 
to  their  repetition,  as  those  actions  into  which  the  whole 
force  and  vim  of  body  and  mind  are  injected. 

This  leads  directly  to  another  point  of  the  first  impor- 
tance. Habit,  as  we  have  defined  it,  is  not  merely  a  mat- 
ter of  nerves  and  muscles.  These  furnish  the  physiological 
basis  of  habit;  but  habit  itself  finds  a  place  and  plays  a  part 
in  every  department  of  the  mental  and  physical  life.  Our 
reactions  to  the  conditions  in  which  we  live  are  multiform; 
but  there  is  no  reaction  of  ours  that  may  not  become  habit- 
ual, nay,  that  does  not  at  once  begin  to  become  habitual,  even 
from  its  first  occurrence;  and,  if  repeated,  it  soon  becomes 
positively  and  definitely  habitual.  Not  only  the  way  in 
which  we  perform  muscular  movements,  holding  a  pen,  walk- 
ing, speaking,  eating,  and  the  like,  but  the  way  in  which  we 
think  and  feel,  in  given  circumstances,  tends  to  become  fixed 
and  permanent.  We  may  form  the  habit  of  taking  offence 
easily,  or  the  opposite  habit  of  being  patient  and  magnani- 
mous. We  may  form  the  habit  of  driving  hard  bargains  in 
business,  or  of  dealing  generously  with  our  neighbors.  We 
may  form  the  habit  of  pessimism,  or  the  habit  of  optimism; 
the  habit  of  refined  or  the  habit  of  vulgar  behavior;  the 
habit  of  self-centered  egotism,  or  the  habit  of  comprehen- 
sive altruism.  Our  intellectual  life  is  as  open  to  the  in- 
fluence of  the  law  of  habit  as  any  other  phase  of  our  being. 
Few  habits  are  more  easily  formed,  or  more  difficult  to  dis-  } 
solve,  than  the  habit  of  superficial  thinking,  such  as  may 
be  seen  in  that  type  of  mind  that  demands  the  lightest  and 


frothiest  exercise,  that  reads  nothing  but  the  shallowest 
fiction,  and  frequents  nothing  but  the  most  sensational  and 
least  thoughtful  dramatic  performances.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  habit  of  reading  Milton,  and  Shakespeare,  and 
Gibbon,  and  Plato,  and  Kant,  is  not  formed  in  a  day,  but  it 
may  be  formed,  and  when  once  it  is  formed,  it  is  a  mental 
asset  whose  value  is  beyond  rubies.  The  same  may  be  said, 
with  even  more  emphasis,  of  the  habit  of  thinking  on  broad 
themes  rather  than  narrow  ones,  of  looking  deeply  into 
things  rather  than  skimming  over  the  surface,  of  thinking 
logically  and  with  severe  consistency,  instead  of  being  con- 
tent with  loose,  incoherent,  and  haphazard  thought  proc- 
esses. Indeed,  it  would  hardly  be  an  extravagance  to  say 
that  the  aim  of  education  is  not  so  much  to  fill  the  mind  with 
knowledge,  regarding  any  one,  or  any  number  of  subjects, 
as  to  form  in  the  mind  this  habit  of  clear  cut,  logical  think- 
ing on  all  subjects  whatsoever;  so  that  it  cannot  any  longer 
be  deceived  with  sophistries,  or  satisfied  with  gratuitous 
premises  or  irrelevant  conclusions,  with  hasty  generaliza- 
tions made  on  an  insufficient  basis  of  facts,  or  with  supersti- 
tions based  on  no  facts  at  all. 

Habit  plays  its  part  in  morality  and  religion  as  elsewhere. 
Not  merely  in  the  outward  acts,  the  external  observances 
that  belong  to  the  moral  and  religious  life,  the  movements 
and  attitudes  of  worship,  and  the  behavior  that  befits  the 
moral  man,  but  in  the  inner  springs  from  which  these 
outward  actions  flow,  habit  has  its  part  to  play.  There  is 
such  a  thing  as  the  habitually  reverent  mind,  and  the  habitu- 
ally wholesome  mind.  And  there  is  only  one  way  to  form 
and  fix  these  habitual  inner  states,  as  well  as  these  habitual 
outer  movements,  and  that,  as  Aristotle  taught  us  long  ago, 
is  by  doing  that  which  you  wish  to  form  the  habit  of  doing. 
The  only  way  to  become  an  habitual  early  riser  is  to  rise 
early,  and  keep  on  rising  early,  until  the  habit  is  formed. 
And  the  only  way  to  be  habitually  clean  and  strong  and  logi- 
cal and  reverent  in  your  thinking  and  conduct  is  to  practice 
strenuously  this  sort  of  thinking  and  action,  and  refuse  the 


THE  CAPACITY  TO  ACT  117 

mind's  hospitality  to  the  opposite  sort,  until  the  habit  be 
formed. 

In  dwelling  thus  on  the  value  and  importance  of  habit  one 
must  not  forget  that  there  is  another  side  to  all  this;  that 
habit-forming  has  its  dangers  as  well  as  its  advantages,  and 
that  the  formation  of  habits  is  not  the  only  aim  of  educa- 
tion. The  highest  type  of  character  is  not  the  man  whose 
life  has  become  the  most  completely  habituated,  unless,  as 
a  counterpoise  to  that  habituation,  there  is  the  developed 
power  of  fresh  initiative,  which  would  carry  with  it  the 
power  to  break  up  any  given  habit  whenever  that  might  be 
necessary,  or  to  depart  radically,  at  a  moment's  notice,  from 
the  lines  laid  down  by  habit,  should  occasion  require  it.  It 
is  well  that  a  very  large  part  of  our  activity  should  come 
under  the  domain  of  habit,  for  otherwise  the  attention 
would  be  so  occupied  with  the  details  of  our  behavior  that 
we  should  not  be  able  to  make  any  progress;  but  on  the 
other  hand  it  is  well  that  no  important  group  of  movements 
should  become  so  irrevocably  habitual  that  ideational  control 
cannot  be  resumed  at  any  time. 

Habit-forming  begins,  as  we  have  said,  with  the  begin- 
ning of  life,  and  continues  throughout,  though  with  so 
greatly  diminished  force  in  mature  life  and  old  age,  as  to  be 
virtually  negligible;  its  place  being  taken  by  habit  confirm- 
ing. Childhood  is  the  golden  age  for  habit-forming,  but 
adolescence  is  scarcely  less  important  in  this  respect.  In 
fact,  there  are  two  ways  in  which,  as  it  seems  to  me,  this 
period  is  even  more  important  than  childhood  in  regard  to 
habit.  For  in  the  first  place  habits  may  now  be  formed 
with  a  clearer  consciousness  of  what  is  involved  and  with 
a  more  definite  purpose  in  view.  Children  form  their  habits 
unconsciously,  in  response  to  the  suggestions  that  come  from 
without,  and  with  no  discrimination  between  the  habits  that 
arc,  and  those  that  are  not,  worth  forming.  But  in  youth 
habits  may  be,  and  often  are,  formed  consciously,  in  rela- 
tive independence  of  outside  suggestion,  and  with  that  dis- 
crimination between  the  desirable  and  the  undesirable  which 


n8      THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

has  so  much  to  do  with  the  determination  of  character.  In 
other  words,  the  formation  of  habits  in  youth  may  be  more 
self-originated  and  self-controlled  than  in  childhood.  And 
in  the  second  place  the  expanded  outlook  on  life,  which  is 
the  mark  of  youth  as  distinguished  from  childhood,  en- 
larges the  area  of  habit-formation,  and  makes  possible  a 
conscious  correlation  of  one's  habits  into  something  like  a 
system  of  habits.  Each  single  habit  does  not  stand  by  it- 
self, unrelated  to  the  rest,  but  comes  into  closer  relation  to 
the  rest,  and  is  modified  in  accordance  with  the  requirements 
of  the  whole  system;  or  at  all  events  the  correlation  referred 
to  is  relatively  much  farther  advanced  than  was  possible  in 
the  earlier  period. 


CHAPTER  IX 

SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS   AND  THE   SOCIAL   ORDER 

In  the  ordinary  life  of  every  individual  the  self  is  the 
living  center,  round  which  the  chief  interests  gather,  from 
which  the  principal  energies  and  activities  proceed,  and  in 
terms  of  which  the  leading  valuations  are  made.  Judg- 
ment, in  its  claim  to  universal  validity,  must  first  vindicate 
itself  to  the  individual  consciousness;  and  there  are  many 
who  are  unable  to  find  any  other  ground  for  the  universal 
validity  of  a  judgment,  except  its  irresistible  appeal  to  the 
individual  mind.  To  make  this  account  intelligible  one 
must  obviously  find  somehow  an  identity  underlying  the  di- 
versity of  individuals,  and  some  means  of  passing  from  the 
judgment  as  a  mere  psychical  occurrence  in  a  single  con- 
sciousness to  the  same  judgment  as  possessing  cogency  for 
all  intelligence.  These  are  problems  for  metaphysic  and 
epistemology;  but  they  have  important  bearings  on  psy- 
chology as  well. 

The  significance  of  the  idea  of  the  self,  in  common  life, 
in  psychology,  in  ethics,  in  religion,  and  in  education,  is  so 
well  recognised  as  scarcely  to  call  for  special  mention  here. 
Psychology  may  very  well  and  very  justly  pride  itself  on 
getting  along  "  without  a  soul,"  in  the  older  sense  of  that 
much-abused  term,  but  it  cannot  ignore  that  clustering  of 
mental  states  and  processes,  that  unification  of  ideas,  that 
sharp  separation  between  the  groups  and  clusters  that  I  call 
"  mine  "  and  the  groups  and  clusters  that  I  call  "  yours," 
which  everywhere  mark  the  mental  history  of  men;  nor 
that  assurance  of  the  identity  and  permanence  of  the  in- 
dividual subject  throughout  the  diversity  and  the  ceaseless 
mutations  of  the  contents  of  his  experience,  which,  in  all 
cases  not  flagrantly  pathological,  constitute  the  most  per- 
sistent and  ineradicable  of  our  convictions. 

119 


120     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

In  the  moral  life  of  men,  and  in  ethical  philosophy,  which 
is  the  attempt  to  give  a  rational  account  of  that  moral  life, 
personal  identity  is  at  the  same  time  the  starting  point  and 
the  goal,  the  foundation  and  the  copestone.  Without  it 
there  could  be  no  explanation  of  moral  obligation;  for 
"  duty  "  is  a  word  without  a  meaning  unless  there  be  some 
one  who  can  say,  "  This  is  my  duty."  Apart  from  the  con- 
ception of  personality  there  could  be  no  imaginable  summum 
bonum  to  constitute  the  final  goal  of  all  moral  effort  and 
the  final  definition  of  the  meaning  of  life. 

Religion  likewise  becomes  a  term  devoid  of  significance  if 
selfhood  be  not  real;  for  surely  personal  devotion,  and  the 
allegiance  of  the  finite  to  the  infinite  Being,  are  of  the 
essence  of  religion.  And  though  in  some  of  the  great  world 
religions  individuality  is  deemed  a  curse  instead  of  a  bless- 
ing, and  the  highest  result  of  religious  devotion  is  thought 
to  be  the  final  deliverance  of  the  individual  from  the  fetters 
of  his  individuality,  in  Christianity,  on  the  contrary,  the  one 
thing  of  supreme  value  is  personality,  and  the  supreme  ob- 
ject of  religious  culture  is  the  preservation  of  the  individual 
character  against  the  deteriorating  inroads  of  hostile  forces, 
and  its  development  up  to  the  highest  possible  perfection  of 
which  it  is  capable. 

The  whole  theory  and  practice  of  education,  the  final  end 
of  which  is  identical  with  that  of  religion,  grow  out  of, 
and  take  shape  in  accordance  with,  the  same  postulate.  The 
history  of  education  reveals  much  groping  in  the  darkness, 
much  "  trial  and  error,"  but  through  it  all  one  great  con- 
viction has  been  slowly  but  surely  gaining  ground,  and  en- 
trenching itself  in  the  pedagogic  consciousness;  the  con- 
viction, namely,  that  education  in  its  essence,  as  distinguished 
from  its  accidents,  means  the  effort  to  help  personality  to 
find  itself,  to  realize  itself,  and  progressively  to  develop 
itself  towards  its  highest  conceivable  form. 

It  is  not  our  business  at  present  to  provide  a  definition  of 
the  ego,  nor  to  settle  any  of  the  properly  philosophical  ques- 
tions associated  with  that  concept.  But  it  is  our  business  to 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  1 2 1 

take  account  of  the  idea  of  the  self,  and  to  note  the  more 
important  aspects  in  the  development  of  the  consciousness 
of  the  self,  or  self-consciousness,  especially  in  the  period  of 
adolescence,  wherein  that  development  becomes  marked  by 
many  special  and  striking  features. 

Before  doing  so,  however,  it  may  be  permissible  to  put  on 
record,  in  three  propositions,  two  of  them  negative  and  one 
affirmative,  what  we  would  regard  as  the  prolegomena  of 
a  philosophical  account  of  the  ego,  were  we  undertaking  to 
give  such  an  account. 

First,  the  self  cannot  be  conceived  hypostatically,  that  is 
to  say,  as  a  hard  and  fast  core,  or  bit  of  soul-substance,  exist- 
ing apart  from,  and  quite  independent  of,  the  ideas,  feel- 
ings, and  other  phenomena  that  constitute  the  stream  of 
its  experience.  Such  an  ego  has  small  chance  of  survival 
against  the  attacks  that  have  been  made  upon  it,  especially 
since  Hume  wrote  his  Treatise  of  Human  Nature. 

Secondly,  the  soul  must  not,  on  the  other  hand,  be  com- 
pletely identified,  as  the  radical  empiricist  tends  to  identify 
it,  with  the  stream  of  ideas  and  feelings;  for  this,  as  has 
so  often  been  pointed  out,  fails  not  merely  to  account  for  it, 
but  equally  fails  to  account  for  them. 

Thirdly,  it  must,  if  we  are  to  have  a  consistent  philosophy, 
be  thought  of  as  in  some  way  the  principle  of  unity,  synthe- 
sis, and  constructive  interpretation,  by  which  the  phenomena 
become  intelligible  and  the  mental  world  presents  itself  as  a 
cosmos  instead  of  a  chaos.  It  is  that  which  holds  the  phe- 
nomena together,  imparting  to  them  the  only  unity  and  the 
only  significance  they  possess.  Each  of  us  certainly  thinks 
of  his  "  ego  "  as  one,  while  his  "  states  "  are  many.  It  con- 
tinues, while  they  come  and  go.  It  confers  its  unity,  not 
only  upon  the  experiences  of  the  present,  but  upon  those 
of  the  remembered  past  and  the  imagined  future.  Back 
through  the  past,  as  far  as  memory  can  reach,  everyone 
recognizes  that  living  line  of  selfhood  which  he  calls  me, 
that  holds  together  all  the  past  and  gives  to  it  a  meaning. 
And  if  we  turn  in  the  other  direction  and  try  to  forecast 


122     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

our  future,  still  there  is  projected  through  all  that  forecast 
and  conjecture  the  same  predominant  me,  giving  unity  to 
those  projected  experiences,  and  imparting  to  them  the  only 
value  they  possess  and  the  only  interest  that  belongs  to  them. 
We  even  project  our  experience  forward  into  an  unimagin- 
able eternity,  and  even  there  the  central  idea  is  of  this  per- 
sistent, identical  self,  conceived  as  abiding  through  all  mu- 
tations of  experience,  surviving  not  only  the  duration  of  the 
physical  organism,  but  continuing  after  the  material  heavens 
have  been  rolled  together  as  a  scroll  and  the  elements  of 
external  nature  have  passed  away  in  fervent  heat. 

We  may  in  fact  go  much  further  than  this  and  say,  not 
only  that  our  conceptions  and  imaginings  of  a  future  life 
involve  the  thought  of  conscious  and  personal  continuance, 
but  that  conscious  and  personal  continuity  are  of  the  very 
essence  of  the  matter.  The  question  of  immortality  pre- 
supposes and  depends  upon  the  question  of  individuality, 
and  the  definition  of  the  latter  carries  with  it  the  definition 
of  the  former.  As  Professor  Royce  puts  it,  the  question, 
"  What  do  we  mean  when  we  talk  of  an  individual  man?  is 
not  a  mere  preliminary  to  an  inquiry  concerning  immortality, 
but  it  includes  by  far  the  larger  part  of  just  that  inquiry  it- 
self." x  Immortality  is  really  naught  else  but  the  full  reali- 
zation of  individuality. 

Self-consciousness,  as  the  recognition  of  personal  iden- 
tity and  the  comprehension  of  its  meaning  and  implica- 
tions, has  its  own  history  in  each  individual.  Like  most 
other  great  concepts,  it  has  its  period  of  weak  and  tentative 
beginnings,  its  accelerations  and  retardations  of  progress, 
its  zenith  meridian,  and  its  possible  decline.  The  observer 
may  detect,  as  the  individual  moves  forward  from  infancy, 
through  boyhood,  youth  and  manhood,  the  gradual  clear- 
ing up  of  the  idea,  and  the  progressive  discovery  and  loca- 
tion of  the  boundary  between  the  ego  and  the  non-ego,  in 
the  various  senses  of  these  terms  given  us  by  Prof.  James.2 

1  Royce,  The  Conception  of  Immortality,  Boston,  pp.  12-14. 

2  James,  Psychology,   (Briefer  course),  New  York,  1892,  Ch.  XII. 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  1 23 

More  rapidly  perhaps  in  adolescence  than  anywhere  else, 
does  this  development  go  on.  The  child  begins  without  any 
clear  ideas  of  any  sort.  Experience,  in  these  its  early  stages, 
comes  to  him,  so  far  as  we  know,  solely  in  the  form  of  sen- 
sations, and  there  is,  at  first,  among  these  sensations,  only 
a  minimum  of  distinction,  discrimination,  or  apprehension 
of  meaning.  The  infant  gives  no  evidence  of  any  clear 
distinction  between  that  which  is  me  and  that  which  is  not 
me.  It  is  sometimes  said  that  his  point  of  view  is  purely 
objective,  but  even  this  is  scarcely  correct,  for  the  distinc- 
tion of  subject  and  object  has  not  yet  become  an  idea  in 
his  mind,  and  so  for  him  there  is  as  yet  neither  subject  nor 
object.  The  mass  of  sensations  is  simply  experienced,  as 
they  come  and  pass  away.  Soon,  however,  boundary  lines 
begin  faintly  to  appear,  distinctions  begin  faintly  to  be  made. 
When  he  drops  a  toy  upon  the  floor  he  feels  no  pain;  when 
he  drops  the  same  toy  upon  his  hand  or  strikes  his  face 
with  it  he  feels  pain.  Food  eaten  by  someone  else  gives 
him  no  pleasure,  food  eaten  by  himself  does.  And  so,  by 
experiences  such  as  these  he  surveys  out  and  fixes  the  line 
between  the  empirical  ego  and  the  material  non-ego. 

Among  the  many  factors  and  conditions  that  play  their 
part  in  the  unfolding  of  the  consciousness  of  the  self,  the 
following  are  of  special  importance : 

First,  the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  "  nature's  first 
law."  This  is  mentioned  first  because  it  is  manifested  prac- 
tically from  the  beginning  of  life,  and  continues  to  be  one 
of  the  strongest  and  most  enduring  of  the  native  tendencies 
of  the  human  mind.  It  seems  to  point  to  the  existence  of 
a  sort  of  primitive  self-feeling  from  early  infancy,  and  in  its 
operation  it  not  only  serves  a  highly  useful^purpose  in  ward- 
ing off  injuries  to  the  physical  self,  but  it  is  also  a  powerful 
factor  in  building  up  the  self  idea.  The  child  who  shrinks 
back  instinctively  from  the  approach  of  a  strange  dog  does 
something,  however  small,  towards  bringing  home  to  him- 
self the  meaning  of  his  selfhood. 

In  adolescence  this  primitive  instinct  remains  active  and 


i24     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

powerful.  It  expresses  itself  now,  however,  not  merely  in 
involuntary  shrinkings  away  from  some  objects,  and  involun- 
tary Teachings  out  after  others,  but  also,  and  more  especially, 
in  deep  longings  and  strong  desires  for  certain  kinds  or 
classes  of  things,  persons,  and  pursuits,  and  in  equally  deep 
and  strong  aversions  towards  others.  And  in  these  desires 
and  aversions  one  may  easily  discern  the  element  of  jealousy 
over  the  self  and  solicitude  for  its  interests. 

Second,  the  instinct  of  possession,  or  the  proprietary  in- 
stinct. This  also  is  one  of  the  earliest  of  our  native  dis- 
positions to  show  itself.  The  distinction  between  what  is 
"  mine  "  and  what  is  "  yours  "  is  a  gradual  differentiation, 
however,  for  in  its  earliest  form  the  proprietary  instinct 
makes  little  provision  for  any  tuum  whatever.  To  the 
infant,  everything  is  his  that  he  can  grasp  and  retain.  Or, 
more  correctly,  there  is  for  him  as  yet  neither  a  metim 
nor  a  tuum;  and  his  grasping  and  holding  of  all  sorts 
of  objects  is  a  pure  instinct  that  could  not  give  any  account 
of  itself.  With  the  growth  of  experience,  and  especially 
by  virtue  of  sundry  unpleasant  experiences  connected  with 
his  grasping  of  certain  things  and  being  compelled  to  re- 
linquish them  to  others,  the  property  idea  takes  shape  in  his 
mind.  This  idea  becomes  fixed  quite  clearly  as  a  rule  dur- 
ing the  period  of  boyhood,  which  is  filled  for  the  most  part 
with  those  activities  and  interests  that  are  bound  up  with 
material  objects.  The  child  from  eight  to  twelve  sets  great 
store  by  his  own  things.  He  likes  to  have  his  own  room,  his 
own  books,  his  own  tools,  his  own  drawer  in  the  bureau,  his 
own  hooks  in  the  clothes  closet,  and  his  own  purse,  con- 
taining his  own  money.  He  becomes  interested  in  accumu- 
lating certain  kinds  of  things,  and  begins  to  make  collec- 
tions of  coins,  stamps,  autographs,  insects,  stones,  or  other 
objects.  If  circumstances  permit  it  he  probably  possesses 
a  dog,  cat,  parrot  or  pony  of  his  very  own,  or  perhaps  a 
garden  plot,  to  the  care  of  which  he  devotes  himself  with 
a  zeal  and  enthusiasm  which,  were  they  less  intermittent, 
would  leave  little  to  be  desired. 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  1 25 

During  the  youth  period  some  of  these  possessions  lose 
their  hold  upon  his  affections,  while  others  continue  to  be 
valued,  but  for  new  and  different  reasons.  His  interest  in 
things  that  can  be  possessed  as  his  own  waxes  and  wanes 
according  to  their  personal  associations;  that  is  to  say,  ac- 
cording to  the  extent  to  which  they  can  become  objects  of 
interest  to  others  of  his  own  age  as  well  as  to  himself. 
And  so  the  relation  to  things  on  the  one  hand,  and  to  per- 
sons on  the  other,  helps  to  bring  out  into  clearer  conscious- 
ness the  idea  of  his  own  selfhood.  But  this  involves  the 
next  point. 

Third,  the  social  consciousness,  or  the  realization  of  his 
relation  to  other  persons.  This  social  consciousness 
is  the  psychical  correlate  of  the  consciousness  of  the 
self,  and  the  two  develop  hand  in  hand.  Each  helps  to 
bring  the  other  out  into  clearness  of  conception.  As  iron 
sharpeneth  iron,  so  the  contact  of  personality  with  person- 
ality, of  will  with  will,  of  opinion  with  opinion,  tends  to 
sharpen  and  focus  the  idea  of  the  self,  until  its  outlines  are 
distinct  and  clear.  In  acquiring  the  idea  of  other  person- 
alities I  develop  the  idea  of  my  own.  The  two  are  in- 
extricably bound  up  together,  so  that  neither  would  be  what 
it  is  without  the  other.  They  are  two  sides  of  the  same 
fact.  "  Self-consciousness  is  per  se  social  consciousness,  and 
individuality  is  itself  a  social  fact.  Conversely,  society,  as 
distinguished  from  herds,  arises  in  and  through  the  individ- 
uating process,  that  is,  through  the  increasing  notice  that 
one  takes  of  another  as  an  experiencing  self.  Neither  term, 
then  —  society  or  individual  —  is  static;  neither  merely  im- 
poses itself  upon  the  other,  but  the  two  are  complementary 
phases  of  one  and  the  same  movement."  1 

Virtually  from  the  beginning  of  his  life  the  child  finds 
himself  a  member  of  some  form  of  social  order  or  unit,  in 
which,  as  a  member,  he  comes  into  certain  actual  and  effec- 
tive relations  with  others.  The  home  is  the  first,  and  by 
great  odds  the  most  important,  of  these  social  units.  Here 

1  Coe,  The  Psychology  of  Religion,  Chicago,  1906,  Ch.  IX. 


126     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

he  receives  food,  clothing,  shelter,  and  numberless  favors 
and  benefits  without  which  his  life  would  be  impossible,  and 
in  return  he  learns  to  respect  the  rights  and  claims  of  the 
other  members  of  the  unit.  Thus  there  is  brought  home 
to  him  the  idea  of  himself  as  the  center  of  incoming  and 
outgoing  processes  and  activities;  and  so  the  concept  of  the 
self  begins  to  shape  and  clear  itself  in  his  mind.  The  school, 
the  neighborhood,  the  church,  the  state,  are  other,  wider 
concentric  circles  of  social  organization,  between  which  and 
the  individual  there  is  constant  reciprocal  action,  each  social 
unit  becoming  effective  in  its  due  time  and  proportion;  and 
through  this  reciprocal  action  the  idea  of  the  self  gradually 
becomes  clear.  In  the  earlier  years  of  the  adolescent  period 
many  new  emotions  are  inseparably  associated  with  the  ideas 
of  the  self  and  the  persons  of  others,  and  so  self-feeling 
becomes  greatly  developed;  while  in  the  later  years  of  the 
period  these  emotions  come  into  closer  relation  to  the  ac- 
tivities of  ideation,  and  the  concept  of  the  self  moves 
towards  its  final  form. 

Fourth,  the  unfolding  of  the  sex  life,  with  its  attendant 
phenomena,  is  a  specific  phase  of  the  preceding  factor, 
namely,  the  social  consciousness.  This  development,  which 
occurs  almost  wholly  within  the  period  of  the  teens,  no  doubt 
does  much  to  bring  before  the  mind  the  relation  between 
the  individual  and  his  fellows.  It  is  now  no  longer  pos- 
sible for  boys  or  girls  to  remain  indifferent.  Interest  of 
a  new  sort  begins  to  awaken,  in  the  whole  world  of  per- 
sons in  general,  and  in  those  of  the  opposite  sex  in  particular. 
Boys  love  to  show  their  strength,  courage,  and  other  manly 
qualities,  in  the  presence  of  girls;  and  girls  are  equally 
fond  of  letting  their  charms  and  graces  be  seen  by  boyish 
eyes.  Through  this  native  instinct  the  self  defines  itself  in 
relation  to  other  selves.  A  new  sensitiveness  to  every  phase 
of  the  social  and  personal  environment  is  experienced.  The 
youth  begins  to  care  what  others  think  of  him,  what  others 
say  about  him.  He  begins  to  weigh  himself  in  the  balances, 
and  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  himself,  critically  testing,  to 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  1 27 

find  the  weak  and  the  strong  points.  Two  forces  are  at 
work  within  him,  tending  in  opposite  directions.  On  the 
one  hand  those  new  accessions  of  strength  and  capacity  to 
which  reference  has  been  made  tend  to  make  him  over- 
confident of  himself,  so  that  he  takes  himself  very  seriously, 
makes  large  claims  for  himself,  and  expects  great  things 
from  himself.  And  a  leading  motive  in  all  this  is  his  de- 
sire tojjain  the  esteem  of  others  and  to  appear  well  in  their 
eyes.  ^Cin  the  other  hand  the  intensified  consciousness  'of 
the  presence  of  others,  with  the  increased  sensitiveness 
which  comes  to  the  whole  organism  at  this  time,  produces 
a  fear  of  failure,  a  heightened  self-respect,  a  dread  of  being 
thought  stupid,  or  clumsy,  or  incompetent,  that  makes  the 
adolescent  the  most  bashful,  diffident,  and  self-distrustful 
creature  in  the  world.  Every  parent  and  every  teacher 
knows  how  much  more  difficult  it  is  to  induce  a  boy  or  girl 
of  fourteen  or  fifteen  to  take  part  in  any  public  entertain- 
ment, to  sing  or  recite,  or  to  enter  a  drawing  room  full 
of  strange  company,  than  to  induce  a  little  child  to  do  the 
same  thing^  The  difference  is  due  to  the  difference  of  self- 
consciousness  in  the  two  cases.  To  the  little  child  the  pos- 
sibility of  making  a  false  step,  or  of  saying  an  inappropriate 
thing,  is  not  a  matter  of  very  serious  moment,  because  the 
self  that  would  be  discounted  thereby  does  not  occupy  any 
prominent  place  in  his  consciousness.  But  to  the  boy  or 
girl  of  the  teen  age  the  self-idea  stands  in  the  forefront  of 
consciousness,  and  the  fortunes  and  misfortunes  of  the  self 
are  watched  with  a  jealous  interest. 

Fifth,  the  passion  for  achievement.  Young  life,  wher- 
ever it  is  normal  and  healthy,  is  notoriously  active.  But  the 
activity  of  one  age  differs  in  some  important  respects  from 
that  of  another.  In  normal  development  a  continually  in- 
creasing part  is  played  by  ideas  and  purposes.  Infancy  is 
full  of  motor  impulses,  with  a  minimum  of  ideational  con- 
trol. Maturity  means  control  of  these  motor  impulses  for 
the  sake  of  ends  to  be  realized.  On  the  way  from  the 
former  stage  to  the  latter  there  is  a  period  in  which  the 


128     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

pure  joy  of  achievement  accounts  for  a  large  part  of  the 
child's  behavior;  the  end  in  view  being  immediate  rather 
than  remote,  a  concrete  result  rather  than  a  general  con- 
ception. Most  small  boys  are  ambitious  to  do  things,  and 
to  do  them  unaided.  To  climb  trees,  row  boats,  leap  across 
wide  spaces,  swim  and  dive;  to  go  on  little  journeys  un- 
accompanied by  older  people,  to  carry  money  and  make 
purchases,  to  manage  a  garden  plot  or  drive  a  horse,  gives 
the  boy  keen  pleasure,  because  in  the  skill  and  strength  re- 
quired for  these  achievements  his  own  very  self  is  called 
forth  into  activity. 

In  youth  this  pride  in  personal  achievement  suffers  no 
diminution,  but  on  the  contrary  there  are  many  things  that 
foster  and  intensify  it.  QEyery  increment  in  physical  growth, 
especially  in  height,  every  increase  in  strength,  every  fresh 
triumph  in  the  world  of  achievement,  every  promotion  at 
school,  indicative  of  new  attainments  in  mental  power,  every 
larger  trust  reposed  in  the  youth  by  those  who  have  author- 
ity over  him,  gives  him  a  new  sense  of  personal  importance, 
and  helps  to  bring  the  idea  of  himself  more  clearly  before 
the  footlights  of  his  consciousness.  Youth,  moreover,  is  the 
age  above  all  others  when  golden  dreams  are  dreamed,  and 
visions  seen,  of  splendid  achievements  in  all  these  realms  of 
action,  and  others  besides;  when  the  fields  of  art  and  let- 
ters and  philosophy,  or  it  may  be  of  science  or  invention  or 
philanthropy,  shall  be  explored  and  cultivated  with  a  new 
and  unexampled  enterprise)  But  again  I  am  led  to  the  next 
point. 

Sixth,  the  vocation  idea.  During  the  later  years  of  the 
adolescent  period,  and  in  many  cases  even  in  its  earlier  years, 
the  thoughts  of  the  youth  begin  to  go  out  towards  the  fu- 
ture, and  he  begins  to  make  plans  regarding  his  life  calling. 
Very  naturally  and  properly  his  mind  dwells  upon  the  oc- 
cupation by  which  he  shall  make  his  life  worth  while,  win 
a  name  for  himself  in  the  world,  acquire  a  fortune,  or  pro- 
duce something  of  value  in  the  industrial,  commercial, 
scientific  or  literary  realm.  In  all  these  plans  and  dreams 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  1 29 

he  himself  is  the  living  center,  and  all  the  achievements  are 
valued  in  reference  to  that  center.  But  along  with  this 
thought  of  himself  there  is  almost  always  the  thought  of 
others  also,  whose  presence  and  co-operation  are  held  to  be 
essential  to  the  desirability  of  those  achievements.  At  first 
in  a  very  diffident  and  shamefaced  way,  but  later  with  more 
courage  and  serenity,  the  adolescent  pictures  himself  as  the 
head  of  a  home,  whose  other  members  shall  provide  the  lead- 
ing incentive  to  all  his  efforts,  and  whose  comfort  and  hap- 
piness shall  bulk  largely  in  all  his  thoughts  and  activities. 

Seventh,  moral  and  religious  instruction.  These  have 
their  main  point  and  significance  in  their  bearing  upon  what 
Coe  calls  the  "  individuating  process."  The  demands  of 
the  moral  law  bear  directly  upon  the  individual  will;  and 
the  form  in  which  that  demand  presents  itself,  in  the  first 
instance  at  all  events,  is  what  might  be  called  social  pressure. 
Through  its  various  sanctions  the  social  order  makes  the 
child  aware  of  the  sort  of  conduct  that  is  expected  of  him, 
in  view  of  his  place  and  function  as  a  member  of  that  order. 
Here  then  we  see  the  self  and  the  world  of  other  selves  at 
one  of  their  most  important  and  effective  points  of  con- 
tact. When  the  demands  of  the  moral  life  become  con- 
sciously operative  at  the  higher  level  of  the  categorical  im- 
perative, and  the  claims  of  duty  make  themselves  felt  more 
or  less  independently  of  any  social  sanctions,  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  moral  self  clears  itself  still  further.  For  as  the 
law  of  right  and  duty  ceases  to  lean  for  support  on  external 
authority,  as  moral  control  takes  the  form  of  5£//-control 
in  increasing  measure,  individual  responsibility  and  individ- 
ual autonomy  are  more  and  more  definitely  recognized.  If 
the  moral  ideal  is  the  highest  possible  perfection  of  individ- 
ual character,  then  every  step  in  moral  training  is  a  step 
in  the  process  of  defining  the  self  and  bringing  it  into  the 
distinct  awareness  of  itself.  We  shall  have  opportunity  in 
a  later  chapter  of  pointing  out  how  large  a  part  of  this 
process  takes  place  in  the  adolescent  years. 

That  the  same  is  true  of  the  religious  life  goes  without 


130    THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

saying.  The  heart  and  soul  of  religion  is  the  relation  be- 
tween the  finite  and  the  infinite  persons.  Reverence,  hom- 
age, love  and  service,  are  rendered  by  the  human  individ- 
ual to  the  Divine.  Every  ingredient  of  the  religious  con- 
sciousness,—  realization  of  personal  dependence  and  need; 
acknowledgement  of  personal  obligations  to  God  and  of  re- 
ligious duties  owing  to  Him;  participation  in  religious  exer- 
cises, such  as  prayer  and  praise;  the  observance  of  the  sac- 
raments and  ordinances  of  the  Church;  aspirations  and  striv- 
ings after  holiness  of  life  and  character  —  all  these  have 
the  effect  of  accentuating  individual  personality  and  bring- 
ing the  ideas  involved  therein  into  the  foreground  of  con- 
sciousness. We  shall  find,  in  the  chapter  on  Religion,  that 
adolescence  is  the  golden  age  for  religious  instruction  and 
religious  experience,  in  the  deeper  senses  of  those  terms. 

Like  most  other  feelings  and  ideas,  the  self-feeling  may 
develop  abnormal  forms.  Perhaps  the  most  unwholesome 
of  these  is  the  disposition  to  excessive  a/id  morbid  introspec- 
tion and  self-analysis.  This,  like  other  deviations  from  the 
healthy  type,  is  more  likely  to  occur  in  the  period  of  youth 
than  either  before  or  after  that  time.  An  infant  given  to 
introspection  would  be  a  monstrosity;  and  a  boy  or  girl  under 
twelve  years  of  age  greatly  addicted  to  self-examination 
would  be  scarcely  less  so.  But  in  youth  the  conditions,  both 
in  the  subject  himself  and  in  his  social  surroundings,  are  such 
as  to  invite  and  foster  the  habit  of  self-absorption;  a  habit 
that  may  easily  pass  beyond  the  bounds  of  sober,  well-bal- 
anced self-consciousness. 

Precocity  in  self-analysis  and  introspection  is  a  distinctly 
unhealthy  symptom,  which  may  take  opposite  forms.  In 
some  cases  it  shows  itself  in  an  exaggerated  notion  of  one's 
own  importance,  which,  if  not  duly  counterpoised  by  salutary 
experience  or  discipline  calculated  to  convince  the  individual 
of  the  comparative  insignificance  of  the  place  he  fills  in  the 
world,  is  likely  to  make  him  an  insufferable  egotist  through 
all  his  days.  In  other  cases,  where  the  self-feeling  is  equally 
acute,  but  the  natural  disposition  less  aggressive  and  self- 


SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS  131 

assertive,  it  is  likely  to  produce  a  hesitant,  hair-splitting, 
irresolute,  over-punctilious  individual,  whose  morbid  fear 
of  making  a  mistake,  or  of  committing  a  sin,  paralyses  all 
effort,  and  makes  him  a  source  of  distress  to  himself  and  to 
others.  In  their  extreme  pathological  forms  the  former  is 
to  be  found  in  the  maniac,  with  illusions  of  greatness,  pro- 
claiming himself  a  king;  and  the  latter  in  the  melancholiac, 
who  sits  all  day  silent  and  motionless,  apparently  without 
the  power  or  the  desire  to  take  any  active  interest,  either  in 
what  is  going  on  about  him,  or  in  the  concerns  of  his  own 
personality. 

The  ideal  type  of  human  character  (the  goal  of  the  edu- 
cational process)  is  an  individual  with  pronounced  and  effec- 
tive individuality,  in  whom  all  the  forces  and  resources  of 
mind,  heart  and  will,  are  thoroughly  organized  and  con- 
stantly utilized,  in  the  service  of  moral  ends;  which  means 
that  all  the  activities  of  the  individual,  while  conducive  to  his 
own  further  self-realization,  are  in  like  manner  conducive 
to  the  same  self-realization  on  the  part  of  all  other  selves, 
so  far  as  his  influence  extends. 


CHAPTER  X 

SEX 

No  part  of  our  subject  is  more  difficult  to  treat  wisely 
than  this,  and  yet  there  is  no  part  whose  omission  would  be 
less  excusable.  For  in  that  period  of  life  with  which  this 
book  attempts  to  deal,  the  facts  of  sex  compel  attention,  the 
phenomena  most  directly  connected  with  the  reproductive 
functions  on  the  physical  side  show  themselves  for  the  first 
time  in  more  than  a  merely  potential  way;  while  on  the 
mental  side.those  feelings  and  ideas,  instincts  and  emotions, 
interests  and  desires,  that  are  bound  up  with  the  sex  life 
undergo  a  like  development.  So  potent  is  the  influence  of 
the  sex  factor  in  giving  to  the  second  dozen  years  of  life 
their  distinctive  character,  that  to  attempt  a  psychological 
account  of  those  years  without  any  reference  to  that  factor 
would  be  as  absurd  as  to  write  a  psychology  of  childhood 
without  any  reference  to  the  instinct  of  imitation.  One 
must  either  write  of  sex  or  refrain  from  attempting  a  psy- 
chology of  adolescence. 

The  structures  and  functions  that  constitute  the  physical 
aspect  of  sex  are  of  course  absolutely  essential  to  the  exist- 
ence and  continuance  of  the  race,  and  as  natural  and  normal 
as  any  others;  and  yet,  rightly  or  wrongly,  they  have  come 
to  be  regarded  in  all  refined  society  as  something  that  must 
be  spoken  of,  if  at  all,  with  especial  reserve  and  circumspec- 
tion, under  penalty  of  offending  against  good  taste  and  good 
morals.  In  recent  years,  however,  the  subject  has  received 
a  good  deal  of  attention,  and  much  discussion  has  taken 
place,  with  great  diversity  of  opinion,  not  only  as  to  what 
constitutes  propriety  at  this  point,  but  more  especially  as  to 
what  instruction,  if  any,  should  be  given  to  children  and 

132 


SEX  133 

young  people  on  the  subject  of  the  origin  of  life  and  the 
meaning  of  sex,  in  the  interests  of  the  children  and  young 
people  themselves,  and  with  a  view  to  the  highest  good  of 
human  society  in  the  future ;  which,  we  may  surely  take  for 
granted,  is  the  desideratum  accepted  in  common  by  all  the 
parties  to  the  controversy. 

On  the  one  hand  there  are  many  who  believe  that  our 
conventional  reserve  on  this  subject  is  itself  an  offence  against 
good  morals,  which,  therefore,  defeats  its  own  purpose.  In 
advocating  frankness  and  plainness  of  speech,  they  point  to 
the  obvious  and  very  real  dangers  of  a  reticence  that  leaves 
boys  and  girls  to  discover  as  best  they  may  the  explanation 
of  the  new  facts  that  now  compel  their  attention  and  arouse 
their  curiosity.  The  desired  information,  they  say,  is  likely 
to  be  obtained,  in  that  case,  from  persons  who  are  them- 
selves more  or  less  sexually  depraved,  as  well  as  ignorant 
of  the  real  facts;  with  the  deplorable  result  that  the  first 
lesson  on  sex  matters  received  by  the  boy  or  girl  is  scientific- 
ally untrue  and  morally  unclean. 

Those  of  the  opposite  way  of  thinking  warn  us  of  what 
they  consider  the  still  greater  dangers  of  plain  speech  and 
unreserved  frankness.  They  maintain  that  innocence  is  the 
surest  safeguard  of  purity;  that  as  a  general  rule  each  indi- 
vidual may  be  trusted  to  discover  whatever  it  is  necessary 
for  him  to  know,  when  the  proper  time  arrives;  that  all 
normal  children  are  equipped  by  nature  with  an  innate  re- 
serve on  sex  matters  that  ought  to  be  taken  by  us  as  a  hint 
and  a  warning;  and  that  to  break  through  this  reserve  and 
obtrude  sex  information  upon  innocent  boys  and  girls,  is 
a  great  pedagogical  blunder  and  a  serious  moral  obscenity. 

We  shall  return  to  this  phase  of  the  subject  under  the 
general  heading  of  pedagogy; 1  only  pausing  at  present  to 
remark  that  there  are  obvious  limits  in  both  directions,  be- 
yond which  it  is  neither  wise  nor  useful  to  proceed  in  this 
matter.  The  difficulty  is  to  determine  the  location  of  those 
limits,  especially  in  the  abstract. 

i  Vide  infra,  Ch.  XIV. 


i34     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

Much  of  the  aversion  with  which  any  open  discussion  of 
this  subject  is  regarded  by  many  people  is  due  to  the  narrow 
range  within  which  the  subject  is  conceived.  Too  often  it 
is  thought  of  wholly  on  the  physical  plane,  and  almost 
wholly  in  reference  to  the  physical  organs  directly  concerned, 
together  with  the  animal  passions  involved.  The  very  in- 
tensity of  these  passions,  and  their  close  connexion  with 
the  physical  processes,  tend  to  obscure  from  our  minds  the 
broader  aspects  of  the  matter.  The  truth  is,  that  however 
central  and  obtrusive  these  things  may  be,  the  range  of  the 
subject  is  vastly  wider  than  this.  The  characteristics  of 
sex  belong  not  merely  to  these  special  organs,  but  permeate 
the  whole  body,  arid  the  entire  life  of  feeling  and  thought 
and  will.  The  normal  woman  is  essentially  female  from 
head  to  foot,  in  bearing  and  conduct,  in  sentiment  and  ex- 
pression, in  feeling,  thought  and  action,  and  from  the  be- 
ginning of  girlhood  to  the  end  of  life.  So,  also,  with  the 
normal  man.  He  is  essentially  and  vitally  male,  through- 
out the  whole  range  of  his  being. 

And  this  can  be  said  without  denying  that  the  sexes  have 
much  in  common;  quite  enough  to  justify  the  use  of  the 
generic  name  Man.  In  regard  to  many  of  the  native  in- 
stincts, the  chief  forms  of  emotion,  the  principles  and  laws 
of  intellectual  action,  and  the  countless  forms  of  mental  as- 
sociation and  habit,  to  say  nothing  of  the  structure  and 
functions  of  most  organs  of  the  body,  such  as  heart,  lungs, 
stomach,  etc.,  that  which  is  common  to  both  far  outweighs 
that  which  is  peculiar  to  each.  Even  sex  itself  is  in  the 
deepest  sense  a  common  characteristic,  and  the  differences 
between  male  and  female,  fundamental  though  they  be,  are 
underlaid  by  a  still  more  fundamental  identity.  The  dif- 
ferentiating qualities,  as  we  see  them  in  their  present  forms 
in  the  human  race,  are  the  product  of  a  long  evolution  from 
lower,  simpler,  and  less  distinctive  qualities;  and  if  we  re- 
trace as  well  as  we  can  the  process  by  which  they  have  come 
to  be  what  they  are,  we  shall  light  upon  forms  of  life  that 
come  into  being,  not  by  conjugation  of  dimorphic  cells,  but 


SEX  135 

by  simple  division  of  a  single  cell,  or  by  parthenogenetic  re- 
production; in  which  cases  "sex"  can  hardly  be  said  to 
exist  at  all.  Those  qualities,  moreover,  by  virtue  of  which 
one  individual  is  male  and  another  female,  taken  not  only 
severally  but  collectively,  and  including  not  only  the  physical 
but  also  the  intellectual,  the  moral,  and  other  traits,  gifts 
and  capacities,  are  not  so  many  independent  and  simple 
phenomena,  but  opposite  and  complementary  phases  of  one 
and  the  same  complex  phenomenon. 

An  incidental  by-product  of  this  may  be  seen  in  the  fact 
that  there  are  many  shades  of  variation  among  individuals, 
both  from  the  female  and  from  the  male  type  (to  say  noth- 
ing of  downright  hermaphroditism)  so  that  we  find  all  de- 
grees of  "  masculinity  "  among  women  and  all  degrees  of 
"  effeminacy "  among  men.  This  approximation  of  the 
sexes  to  each  other  may  involve  not  only  the  mental  and 
moral  qualities,  but  even  some  of  the  physical.  A  mascu- 
line woman  is  frequently,  though  not  always,  large  and  bony, 
with  coarse  hair,  square  jaw,  and  deep  voice;  while  con- 
versely, the  effeminate  man  is  likely  to  be  the  possessor  of  a 
soft  voice,  silky  hair,  and  dainty  hands  and  feet.  In  manner 
and  disposition  the  former  is  bold  and  aggressive,  and  the 
latter  timid  and  retiring.  It  should  be  added  that  neither 
sex  admires  this  outcrop  of  its  peculiar  characteristics  in 
persons  of  the  opposite  sex.  An  effeminate  man  finds  little 
favor  among  women,  and  a  masculine  woman  is  detested,  as 
a  rule,  by  men. 

The  facts  just  referred  to  corroborate  the  statement  that 
the  words  "  male  "  and  "  female  "  stand  for  characteristic 
qualities  that  divide  and  yet  unite,  for  differences  that  are 
vital  and  essential  without  being  absolute;  in  short,  for 
mutually  complementary  aspects  of  a  deeper  unity.  But 
they  do  not  on  that  account  cease  to  be  genuine  differences, 
for  all  real  difference  requires  an  element  of  identity  in  the 
things  that  differ,  just  as  all  real  identity  requires  an  element 
of  difference  in  the  things  that  are  identical. 

That  sex  is  too  broad  a  fact  to  be  adequately  defined  in 


136     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

merely  physiological  terms  is  shown  also  by  the  fact  that 
the  act  of  procreation  is  not  merely  a  physical  act,  in  which 
the  body  of  a  new  individual  comes  into  being  through  the 
union  of  certain  cells.  That  which  is  produced  is  a  psycho- 
physical  and  not  merely  a  physical  organism,  and  the  qual- 
ities of  his  mental  life,  as  well  as  of  his  physical,  are  de- 
pendent on  the  character  of  the  race  of  which  he  is  a  scion, 
and  of  the  parents  to  whom  his  being  is  immediately  due. 
Procreation  is  a  mental  and  a  moral  transaction,  as  well  as 
a  physical.  The  facts  of  heredity,  as  well  as  its  laws,  are 
becoming  more  and  more  fully  known,  though  their  ultimate 
explanation  is  not  yet  forthcoming;  and  they  are  seen  to 
apply  to  the  mind  and  the  character  as  well  as  to  the  body. 
Investigations  into  the  history  of  certain  families  have  shown 
a  remarkable  persistence  of  leading  characteristics  through 
many  generations.  Criminal  inclinations,  not  merely  gen- 
eral, but  more  or  less  specific  (that  is  to  say,  not  merely  the 
general  inclination  to  lawless  conduct,  but  the  disposition  to 
commit  certain  specific  kinds  of  crime)  are  transmitted  from 
generation  to  generation,  as  far  as  the  records  extend,  either 
continuously,  or  with  certain  atavistic  omissions.  So  mo- 
mentous are  the  issues  involved  here,  that  more  than  one 
suggestion  has  been  made,  looking  to  some  sort  of  social 
control  of  the  process  of  procreation,  in  the  interests  of  the 
race,  and  more  than  one  experiment  in  human  stirpiculture 
has  been  undertaken,  with  a  view  to  improving  the  breed 
of  men  by  means  somewhat  similar  to  those  which  have 
long  been  employed  to  improve  the  breed  of  animals.  Cer- 
tain obvious  difficulties  have  always  stood  in  the  way  of  the 
success  of  these  experiments,  and  probably  will  always  do 
so;  but  the  more  modest  efforts  covered  by  the  term 
"  eugenics  "  have  already  been  attended  by  a  certain  meas- 
ure of  success. 

But  this  point  may  be  pressed  beyond  the  limits  covered 
by  questions  of  heredity.     Love  itself  l  has  passed  through 

1  As  Thomson  and  Geddes  have  so  well  said,  in  Sex,  New  York,  1914,  Chs. 
VI  and  IX. 


SEX  137 

a  long  process  of  evolution,  beginning  with  those  lowest 
and  simplest  forms  in  which  it  meant  nothing  but  a  crude 
physical  stimulus,  and  then  an  "  instinctive  organic  attrac- 
tion," often  sub-conscious,  and  scarcely  deserving  of  the 
name  of  love.  To  this  was  added  at  a  later  stage  the  attrac- 
tion of  beauty  in  its  many  forms ;  and  then  the  subtler  lure 
of  the  psychical,  with  the  resistless  appeal  of  personality 
to  personality.  Here,  in  the  ideal  of  human  love,  "  all  the 
finer  threads  of  pre-human  sex-attraction  are  interwoven 
and  sublimed."  It  is  no  longer  merely  two  cells,  but  two 
souls  that  are  seeking  each  other,  with  the  desire  to  blend 
all  their  interests,  purposes  and  ideals  in  a  permanent  unity; 
and  love  has  become  "  an  affair  of  body,  soul  and  spirit." 

The  fact  of  sex  lies  near  the  root  of  all  organic  life.  In 
one  form  or  another  it  pervades  almost  the  entire  realms 
of  plant  and  animal  existence.  Nearly  everywhere  the 
male  and  female  elements  are  to  be  found,  and  nearly 
everywhere  the  perpetuation  of  the  species  depends  on  the 
union  of  these  two.  Over  the  greater  portion  of  that  field 
with  which  biology  is  occupied  we  find  duality  of  parentage, 
the  male  factor  residing  in  one  individual  form,  and  the 
female  in  another.  Each  of  these  is  absolutely  essential 
to  the  other  so  far  as  reproduction  is  concerned,  neither  by 
itself  being  capable  of  procreation.  Moreover,  wherever 
this  duality  of  parentage  obtains,  it  seems  to  be  a  well-nigh 
universal  law,  that  in  the  process  of  the  reproduction  and 
nurture  of  the  offspring,  much  of  the  strength  of  the 
parents,  especially  of  the  mother,  is  consumed.  Nature, 
"  so  careful  of  the  type,"  sacrifices  the  individual  to  pre- 
serve the  species. 

If  the  fact  of  sex  be  understood  in  the  broad  sense  al- 
ready defined,  and  if  sex  differences  involve  not  only  cer- 
tain organs  of  the  body,  but  the  entire  psycho-physical 
being,  then  it  becomes  an  important  matter  for  psychology 
and  for  pedagogy  to  give  some  account  of  those  differences, 
as  well  as  of  the  fundamental  identities  that  underlie  them. 
To  understand  as  well  as  we  can  the  outstanding  qualities 


138     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

of  manhood  and  of  womanhood,  respectively,  and  more  es- 
pecially the  nature  of  the  boy  who  is  becoming  a  man  and 
of  the  girl  who  is  becoming  a  woman,  is  a  prime  requisite 
for  those  who  would  undertake  the  education  of  the  ado- 
lescent. 

In  all  the  ordinary  relations  of  the  sexes  one  broad  differ- 
ence stands  out  prominently.  The  male  is  everywhere  the 
aggressor,  the  initiator,  the  seeker.  He  makes  the  first  ap- 
proaches and  the  first  proposals.  Among  races  little  ad- 
vanced in  civilization  he  pursues,  captures,  and  carries  off 
the  female  of  his  choice,  fighting  off  rival  claimants,  and 
she  then  becomes  his  property.  At  a  somewhat  higher 
stage  of  civilization  he  bargains  with  her  father,  agreeing 
to  serve,  perhaps,  as  Jacob  did  for  Rachel,  she  having  little 
or  nothing  to  say  in  the  matter;  though  the  commercial 
nature  of  the  transaction  is  often  relieved,  as  in  the  case  re- 
ferred to,  by  the  presence  of  genuine  affection;  for  the 
seven  years  seemed  to  Jacob  "  but  a  few  days,  for  the  love 
he  had  to  her."  At  all  the  higher  levels  of  civilization, 
even  to  the  highest,  the  general  principle  remains  the  same, 
though  the  methods  employed  become  more  refined.  It  is 
still  the  business  of  the  man  to  make  the  advances,  to  woo, 
and  to  seek;  that  of  the  woman  to  accept  or  reject  the  sug- 
gestions that  are  presented.  In  the  event  of  her  acceptance 
it  immediately  becomes  his  business  to  produce,  provide  and 
defend;  hers  to  conserve,  dispose,  and  use,  what  is  pro- 
vided. So  it  seems  to  be  throughout.  To  him  belong  ad- 
venture, achievement,  conquest;  to  her  conservation,  nur- 
ture, and  fostering  care.  She  is  much  less  disposed  than  he 
to  make  new  discoveries,  to  find  fresh  ways  of  doing  things, 
or  to  call  in  question  established  customs,  traditions  or  be- 
liefs. Her  attitude  towards  all  that  has  been  sanctified  by 
tradition,  custom,  and  convention  is  more  docile  and  less 
critical  than  his.  By  nature  she  is  neither  a  radical  nor  a 
non-conformist;  nor  does  she  find  so  much  difficulty  as  he  in 
believing  that  what  is  is  right,  and  that  the  existing  order 
had  better  not  be  disturbed.  Only  a  very  small  percentage 


SEX  139 

of  all  new  inventions  have  been  made  by  women,  and  they 
are  responsible  for  only  a  very  few  of  the  reforms  and  revo- 
lutions that  have  been  made,  not  merely  in  the  political  and 
industrial,  but  even  in  the  domestic  realm.  One  of  the  re- 
sults of  Lancaster's  investigations  was  the  "  noticeable  fact 
that  a  large  majority  of  those  who  express  no  desire  for 
leadership  are  girls.  Many  of  them  said  they  much  pre- 
ferred to  be  led."  *  They  are  path-followers  rather  than 
path  finders. 

To  this  it  may,  of  course,  be  objected,  that  all  the  differ- 
ences referred  to,  other  than  the  physical  (and  even  some 
of  these)  are  artificial  products,  the  outcome  of  age-long 
social  custom,  by  which  woman  has  been  shut  out  (or  shut 
in)  from  the  more  vigorous  and  aggressive  activities;  that 
her  mental  and  physical  powers  have  been  moulded  by  con- 
tinuous limitation  to  the  more  passive  and  placid  occupa- 
tions; and  that  the  great  changes  now  taking  place  in  the 
position  of  woman  in  the  social  order  will  probably  in  a 
few  more  generations  obliterate  nearly  all  these  differences 
in  character  and  capacity  of  which  we  have  spoken.  To 
deny  this  in  advance  would,  of  course,  be  somewhat  rash, 
but  I  confess  to  finding  it  very  difficult  to  imagine  the  ob- 
literation of  the  distinctive  qualities  of  character  that  mark 
the  sexes,  or  the  complete  assimilation  of  the  mental  char- 
acteristics of  the  one  to  those  of  the  other.  And  if  the 
possibility  of  this  is  hard  to  imagine,  the  desirability  of  it 
is  even  more  difficult  to  concede. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  great  creative  artists,  poets, 
musicians,  and  architects,  are  mostly  men,  artistic  taste, 
and  the  feeling  for  the  beautiful,  are  more  widely  distributed 
among  women.  The  temperament  of  the  average  woman 
is  more  aesthetic  and  less  commercial  than  that  of  the 
average  man.  As  a  rule  she  is  more  interested  in  the  hang 
of  a  bit  of  drapery  than  in  the  fluctuations  of  the  stock 
market;  and  she  bestows  more  thought  upon  the  cut  of  a 

1  Lancaster,  Psychology  and  Pedagogy  of  Adolescence,  Fed.  Sem.,  Vol.  V, 
1897. 


i4o     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

child's  frock  than  upon  the  fortunes  of  a  political  party  at 
the  polls.  Her  lack  of  business  ability  has  been  made  the 
subject  of  many  a  jest,  but  even  the  jester  has  to  admit  her 
decided  average  superiority  to  man  in  all  matters  of  taste 
and  grace,  in  all  questions  of  refinement  and  beauty. 

Intellectually,  the  mind  of  the  man  seems  better  fitted  for 
the  severer  processes  of  abstract  reasoning  (in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  there  have  been  among  women  some  distinguished 
mathematicians,  metaphysicians,  and  logicians)  the  mind  of 
the  woman  better  adapted  for  the  direct  perception  of  the 
qualities  of  things.  My  own  judgment,  based  on  many 
years'  experience  as  a  teacher  of  both  sexes,  is  that  the  male 
student  is  less  docile  and  receptive,  less  disposed  to  accept 
without  question  what  has  been  handed  down  by  tradition, 
less  content  to  absorb  instruction  from  the  teacher,  than 
the  female  student.  She  wins  her  standing  in  the  class  lists, 
to  a  greater  extent  than  he,  by  patient  and  painstaking 
diligence,  by  careful  attention  to  matters  of  form  and  usage, 
and  by  the  neatness  and  orderliness  of  her  work.  She  relies 
more  than  he  upon  memory,  and  builds  up  her  knowledge 
by  association  of  ideas;  her  mind  is  reproductive  rather  than 
productive. 

The  work  of  the  male  student,  in  comparison  with  hers,  is 
likely  to  appear  untidy  and  slipshod;  but  it  is  also  more 
likely  than  hers  to  be  creative,  productive,  logical,  judicial, 
discriminating  and  critical.  He  relies  more  upon  his  reason- 
ing powers,  and  builds  up  his  knowledge  by  induction  and  de- 
duction. He  betrays  more  independence  of  judgment,  is 
more  impatient  of  authority,  and  does  not  hesitate  to  differ, 
not  only  from  his  professor  in  the  class  room,  but  from  Kant, 
from  St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  and  even  from  Plato. 

In  questions  involving  morality  the  perceptions  and  judg- 
ments of  the  woman  are  often  truer  than  those  of  the  man, 
but  her  efforts  to  justify  those  judgments  by  abstract  reason- 
ing are  apt  to  be  far  less  successful  than  his  would  be. 
To  her,  much  more  than  to  him,  would  apply  the  advice 
given  by  a  certain  judge  of  long  experience  to  a  young 


SEX  141 

barrister  who  had  just  been  elevated  to  the  bench ;  "  Give 
your  decisions  boldly,  for  they  will  probably  be  right;  but 
withhold  your  reasons,  for  they  will  almost  certainly  be 
wrong.1' 

As  the  ordinary  sphere  of  woman  is  less  extended,  her 
interests  more  restricted,  her  nature  less  aggressive,  less 
courageous,  more  diffident,  more  refined,  more  given  to  pity 
and  sympathy,  more  inclined  to  move  in  grooves  that  have 
been  worn  smooth  by  custom,  prescription,  and  precedent, 
so  she  is  less  disposed  than  man  to  criminality,  especially 
of  the  more  flagrant  types,  that  fly  savagely  in  the  face  of 
the  established  social  order.  Though  some  of  the  most 
shocking  crimes  in  the  calendar  have  been  committed  by 
women,  and  though  some  of  the  most  notorious  criminals 
in  all  history  have  been  women,  yet  it  remains  true  that  the 
vast  majority  of  those  who  break  the  law,  and  become  the 
inmates  of  our  prisons  and  houses  of  detention,  or  find  their 
way  to  the  gallows,  are  men.  At  the  same  time  it  must  be 
admitted,  that  in  spite  of  her  finer  moral  intuition,  woman 
is  often  more  ready  than  man  to  subordinate  right  to  ex- 
pediency, especially  on  petty  questions,  and  in  cases  where 
one  may  do  a  great  right  by  means  of  a  little  wrong.  This 
is  sometimes  due  to  her  timidity  and  dread  of  strife,  her 
desire  to  please,  and  her  aversion  to  anything  that  would 
estrange  her  friends  and  bring  upon  her  the  dislike  of  her 
companions  (which  really  means  that  personal  likes  and  dis- 
likes, which  are  concrete,  are  liable  to  override  the  moral 
imperative,  which  is  abstract)  ; *  sometimes  to  her  disposi- 
tion to  act  upon  the  deep  desire  of  the  moment,  rather  than 
upon  the  reasoned  judgment  of  the  moral  situation  involved; 
and  sometimes  to  that  very  conservatism  which  makes  her 
slow  to  see  the  need  of  challenging  that  which  is  customary. 

If  the  essential  elements  in  religion  are  reverence,  awe, 
and  worshipful  submission  in  the  presence  of  a  higher 

1 "  The  thing  that  is  least  condemned  is  deception  for  the  sake  of  someone 
else,  while  the  thing  that  is  hardest  for  a  girl  to  do  is  to  undertake  the 
reporting  of  a  wrongdoer."  Tanner,  The  College  Woman's  Code  of  Honor, 
Fed.  Sem.,  Vol.  XIII,  1906. 


power,  together  with  the  readiness  to  allow  one's  life  and 
conduct  to  be  ordered  according  to  what  appears  to  be  the 
will  of  that  higher  power;  the  whole  crowned  and  moti- 
vated by  love,  directed  first  to  God  and  then  to  all  that  God 
loves,  then  it  is  no  surprise  to  find  that  woman  is  more  re- 
ligiously inclined  than  man.  In  so  far  as  this  somewhat 
sweeping  statement  is  true,1  it  is  to  be  explained,  on  the  in- 
tellectual side,  by  her  less  desire  to  call  in  question,  or  to 
bring  under  critical  examination,  the  fundamental  proposi- 
tions of  the  current  religious  creed.  Her  greater  readiness 
to  accept  what  is  given,  what  is  handed  down  by  accepted 
tradition,  what  is  supposed  to  be  "  orthodox,"  her  greater 
conservatism,  her  dread  and  dislike  of  "  heresy,"  whether 
in  dress  or  in  theology,  make  her  far  less  frequently  an  in- 
novator than  man,  in  these  matters  as  in  most  others.  The 
history  of  religions  provides  many  examples  of  the  fact  that 
the  forces  that  make  for  the  undermining  of  an  established 
order,  or  for  the  unsettling  of  an  ecclesiastical  system,  for 
throwing  off  the  fetters  of  creed  and  custom,  and  for  rebel- 
lion against  spiritual  authority,  make  least  headway  against 
the  loyalty  of  the  women,  their  devotion  to  the  existing 
situation,  and  their  diffidence  about  spiritual,  as  about  physi- 
cal adventure. 

As  the  fact  of  sex  lies  at  the  root  of  all  life,  and  the 
union  of  the  male  and  female  elements  is  the  essential  con- 
dition of  the  preservation  and  perpetuation  of  the  species, 
so  the  attraction  of  the  sexes  for  each  other,  and  the  deep- 
seated  though  often  unconscious  desire  of  each  to  find  satis- 
faction, first,  in  union  with  the  other,  and,  secondly,  in  the 
offspring  which  are  the  product  of  that  union,  constitute 
the  irresistible  dynamic  without  which  that  union,  with  all 
its  consequent  burdens  and  labors,  would  probably  never 
take  place.  The  sexual  and  parental  instincts  are  well  nigh 
omnipotent  in  determining  the  direction  of  human  history 

1  The  sense  in  which  it  seems  to  me  to  be  true  may  be  expressed  by  say- 
ing that  women  respond  more  readily  to  the  claims  of  religion  as  ordinarily 
presented.  It  is  not  true  that  women  are  more  religious  than  men,  but  it  is 
true  that  more  women  than  men  are  religious. 


SEX  143 

and  in  shaping  the  character  of  human  institutions.  Dur- 
ing the  period  of  adolescence  both  these  instincts  become 
operative,  the  sexual,  of  course,  somewhat  in  advance  of 
the  parental. 

Throughout  the  first  dozen  years  of  life  the  dominant 
instincts  are  those  that  look  to  the  preservation  of  the  in- 
dividual, the  satisfaction  of  his  physical  needs,  the  gratifica- 
tion of  his  curiosity  regarding  the  world  of  nature  about 
him,  and  his  explorative  motor  reaction  upon  that  world. 
Up  to  the  age  of  eight  or  nine  there  is  in  the  mind  of  the 
normal  child,  whose  environment  and  rearing  have  been 
natural  and  wholesome,  and  whose  sexual  nature  has  not 
been  stimulated  into  precocious  activity  by  premature  senti- 
mentality, scarcely  more  than  a  suspicion  of  sex-differences. 
Such  measure  of  sex-consciousness  as  does  exist,  moreover, 
has  reference  to  the  social  rather  than  to  the  physical.  In 
this  sense  the  sex-consciousness  begins  to  make  its  influence 
felt  even  in  childhood;  for  as  soon  as  the  period  of  infancy 
proper  is  passed,  one  may  observe  the  first  faint  beginnings 
of  that  shyness  of  the  sexes  in  each  other's  presence,  which 
afterwards  becomes  a  distinctive  feature  of  the  relation- 
ship. 

It  is  a  most  interesting  provision  of  nature  that  for  a 
time,  beginning  just  before  puberty,  the  sexes  spontaneously 
draw  apart.  Their  interest  in  each  other  diminishes.  Boys 
.become  absorbed  in  games  and  occupations  which  do  not 
/appeal  to  girls,  while  girls  devote  themselves  to  some  pur- 
suits for  which  boys  have  nothing  but  scorn  and  contempt. 
The  young  lad  now  begins  to  rebel  against  any  garment 
whose  cut  resembles  that  of  a  girl's  garment,  or  any  toy 
that  is  common  to  the  two  sexes.  The  sled  that  resembles 
a  girl's  (having  a  protective  railing  about  the  edge)  must 
now  be  discarded,  or  the  railing  removed;  the  Eton  collar, 
because  it  resembles  the  broad  white  collar  commonly  worn 
by  girls,  must  be  given  up. 

A  similar,  though  less  pronounced  change  may  be  seen  in 
the  attitude  of  girls  towards  boys,  not  so  much  in  the  way 


144     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

of  objection  to  boyish  garments,  such  as  coats,  boots  and  hats 
of  a  masculine  cut,  as  in  a  certain  attitude  of  antagonism 
to  the  boys  themselves,  whom  they  regard  as  rough  and 
boisterous  and  clumsy.  Boys'  games  cease  to  attract  girls; 
they  are  too  violent  and  strenuous.  Boys'  interests  are  more 
foreign  and  less  comprehensible.  Boys  take  delight  in  some 
sports  which  girls  think  "  horrid." 

This  instinctive  drawing  apart  of  the  sexes  is  partly  due 
to  the  fact  that  the  advent  of  puberty,  with  the  accelerated 
growth  by  which  it  is  accompanied,  does  not  come  at  ex- 
actly the  same  age  in  the  two  sexes.  It  is  earlier  in  the 
female  by  a  year  or  two.  Hence  a  girl  of  thirteen  is  al- 
most certain  to  be  nearly  two  years  older,  physiologically, 
than  a  boy  of  thirteen.  Up  to  their  twelfth  year,  or  there- 
abouts, these  two  have  been  equal  in  years,  and  nearly  equal 
in  all  other  respects.  But  now  the  girl  finds  herself  out- 
stripping the  boy,  and  the  boy  finds  himself  being  outstripped 
by  the  girl,  in  size,  weight  and  many  other  respects.  So 
these  two,  who  perhaps  have  played  together  for  years  as 
equals  and  comrades,  now  find  that  they  have  little  in  com- 
mon, and  so  drift  apart.  Later,  the  girl  will  become  in- 
terested in  boys  older  than  herself,  and  the  boy  in  girls 
younger  than  himself;  but  in  the  meantime  they  content 
themselves  with  companions  of  their  own  age  and  sex. 

Beyond  all  question  this  temporary  loss  of  interest  in 
each  other  on  the  part  of  the  sexes  is  a  most  valuable  safe- 
guard and  preservative  of  their  normal  relations.  It  is  one 
of  nature's  provisions  for  the  welfare  of  society  and  the 
race.  Premature  sexual  relations,  or  sexual  precocity,  is 
one  of  the  greatest  curses  in  the  social  life  of  uncivilized 
peoples,  stunting  their  growth,  dwarfing  their  intellects, 
and  shortening  their  lives.  It  is  an  unfailing  mark  of  the 
higher  civilizations  that  infancy,  childhood,  and  innocent 
youth-time,  are  prolonged  as  much  as  possible,  or  at  least 
until  the  individual  has  become  quite  fit  to  enter  without 
detriment  upon  the  next  succeeding  stage  of  his  life. 

The  physical  changes  involved  in  the  unfolding  of  the 


SEX  145 

life  of  sex  have  already  been  touched  upon  in  a  general  way, 
in  the  discussion  of  the  growth  of  the  body.  Little  more 
need  be  said,  so  far  as  the  purpose  of  this  book  is  con- 
cerned. Though  the  physical  capacity  for  parenthood  is 
reached  by  boys  about  the  middle  of  the  "  teen  "  period, 
or  a  little  before  that  time ;  and  by  girls  a  year  or  two  earlier 
still,  yet  in  the  full  and  complete  sense,  which  means  much 
more  than  the  bare  possibility  of  reproduction,  it  is  not  at- 
tained, as  a  rule,  among  peoples  of  the  temperate  zones  at 
least,  until  some  time  later.  So  exacting  a  function  re- 
quires years  of  preparation.  It  is  true  that  many  cases  of 
maternity  (and  paternity  too)  occur  long  before  the  end  of 
the  teen  age ;  but,  even  where  no  moral  question  is  involved, 
this  is  usually  a  regrettable  fact,  inasmuch  as  the  whole  sex- 
ual system  is  still  in  the  process  of  upbuilding,  and  is  not 
yet  well  able  to  bear  the  strain  thus  put  upon  it,  without 
detriment  to  its  subsequent  efficiency;  to  say  nothing  of  the 
other  fact,  that  where  parenthood  occurs  so  early  in  life, 
it  is  almost  certain  to  interrupt  the  process  of  education 
and  throw  the  individual  into  the  struggle  of  life  before  the 
preparation  for  that  struggle  has  been  completed.  The 
results  of  premature  reproduction  among  human  beings  are 
similar  to  those  of  premature  fruit  bearing  among  trees  and 
plants.  The  parent  organism  is  weakened,  even  if  the  prod- 
uct is  not  of  an  inferior  type. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  undue  postponement  of  parent- 
hood is  almost  equally  to  be  regretted.  The  proper  care 
and  nurture  of  children  is  the  most  strenuous  and  exact- 
ing of  tasks.  Nothing  else  makes  such  demands  on  the 
powers  of  body  and  mind.  It  should  be  undertaken,  there- 
fore, when  those  powers  are  at  their  best;  when  the  body 
is  strongest  and  most  vigorous ;  and,  let  me  add,  when  love 
is  most  intense,  when  passion  is  deepest,  and  when  courage, 
devotion,  and  optimism  are  at  their  zenith.  If  the  social 
and  economic  conditions  of  our  modern  life  are  really  such 
as  to  make  marriage  and  the  support  of  a  home  more  and 
more  difficult  (except  for  the  very  rich,  whose  social  aspira- 


146     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

tions  can  all  be  gratified,  and  the  low  and  ignorant,  who 
have  none  to  gratify)  and  if,  as  seems  to  be  the  case,  mar- 
riage among  the  "  middle  classes  "  is  tending  to  be  post- 
poned more  and  more,  then  some  means  should  be  found 
for  the  improvement  of  those  conditions.  Other  things 
being  equal  it  is  much  better  for  any  child  that  his  parents 
should  not  be  old  enough  to  be  his  grandparents,  but  that 
they  should  be  in  the  very  prime  and  vigor  of  early  matur- 
ity. Not  only  is  it  better  for  the  child,  but  it  is  better  also 
for  the  parents.  We  very  properly  recognize  the  tremen- 
dous influence  of  parents  in  moulding  the  character  of  chil- 
dren; but  we  should  recognize  also  the  tremendous  influence 
of  children  in  moulding  the  character  of  parents.  It  goes 
without  saying  that  this  influence  is  deepest  and  most  en- 
during where  parents  are  still  in  the  vigor  of  their  early 
maturity. 

Sexual  criminality  is  a  subject  which  one  would  willingly 
pass  over  in  silence,  but  the  facts  forbid  it.  One  would 
much  prefer  to  close  this  chapter  with  a  description  of  the 
natural  and  normal  development  of  youthful  love,  its  charm- 
ing bashfulness,  its  purity  of  motive,  its  idealization  and 
adoration  of  its  object,  and  its  splendid  reflex  influence  in 
heightening  self-respect,  strengthening  character,  and  stimu- 
lating all  worthy  ambitidn.1  It  would  be  most  interesting 
to  follow  it  through  its  course  (which,  as  the  proverb  has 
it,  "  never  runs  smoothly  ")  until  it  culminates  in  honorable 
marriage,  the  establishment  of  such  a  home  as  is  the  pillar 
and  ground  of  the  state,  and  in  the  procreation  and  nurture 
of  such  children  as  are  to  grow  into  its  best  citizens. 

But  one  must  recognize  the  fact  that,  side  by  side  with 
the  natural  and  normal,  we  find  the  unnatural  and  the  ab- 

1 "  For  indeed  I  knew 
'  Of  no  more  subtle  master  under  heaven 
'Than  is  the  maiden  passion  for  a  maid, 
'  Not  only  to  keep   down   the  base   in  man, 
'  But  teach  high   thought,   and   amiable  words 
'  And  courtliness,   and  the  desire  of  fame, 
'And  love  of  truth,  and  all  that  makes  a  man.** 
—  Tennyson,  Idylls  of  the  King. 


SEX  147 

normal.  And  in  that  very  period  of  life  when  motives  are 
purest  and  love  most  unselfish,  we  find  many  cases  of  the 
grossest  impurity  and  the  most  degraded  sensuality. 
Coruptio  optimi  pessima.  As  the  soil  that  will  produce  the 
finest  grain  will  also  grow  the  rankest  weeds,  so  those  very 
capacities  and  powers  through  which  man  approximates 
most  closely  to  the  divine,  when  perverted,  bring  him  near- 
est to  the  threshold  of  hell.  And  so  one  records  with  deep 
pain  the  facts,  that  the  curves  of  criminality  in  general, 
and  of  sexual  criminality  in  particular,  rise  sharply  during 
the  period  of  youth;  that  the  majority  of  prostitutes  enter 
upon  their  vicious  careers  between  the  ages  of  fifteen  and 
eighteen,1  and  that  all  manner  of  abuses  of  the  sexual  func- 
tions are  widespread  among  both  boys  and  girls  at  this  age. 
If  it  be  true,  as  has  so  often  been  said,  that  all  vice  consists 
in  the  perversion  of  some  normal  function,  or  the  abuse  of 
some  gift  whose  proper  use  is  wholly  good,  it  would  be 
hard  to  find  a  better  example  of  it  than  in  this  connexion. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  exaggerate  the  beauty  of  youth- 
ful love,  or  its  value  as  the  ally  of  all  that  is  best  in  art, 
in  morals,  and  in  religion;  it  would  be  equally  difficult  to 
exaggerate  the  ugliness  of  its  perverted  forms,  in  which  it 
becomes  the  foul  confederate  of  all  that  is  earthly,  sensual, 
devilish.  And  the  supreme  task  of  human  society  is  to  pro- 
vide such  nurture  for  childhood  and  youth  that  its  beauty 
and  wholesomeness  may  be  sustained,  and  augmented  from 
one  generation  to  another. 

1  Caldo,  quoted  by  Hall,  in  Adolescence,  New  York,  1904,  Vol.  I,  Ch.  VL 


THE  APPRECIATION  OF  BEAUTY  IN  NATURE  AND  ART 

The  aesthetic  faculty,  including  the  power  to  distinguish 
the  beautiful  from  the  ugly,  to  feel  pleasure  in  the  former 
and  to  be  disagreeably  affected  by  the  latter,  and  to  create 
beautiful  forms  as  embodiments  of  ideas,  belongs  probably 
to  man  alone  among  earthly  beings.  With  one  apparent 
exception,1  the  things  that  are  beautiful  appear  to  make  no 
special  impression  upon  the  lower  animal  mind.  No  evi- 
dence is  at  hand  to  show  that  a  dog  would  enjoy  his  bone 
one  whit  the  more  for  having  it  served  on  a  platter  of  the 
rarest  china  and  adorned  with  sprigs  of  parsley;  or  that  the 
broncho  of  the  foothills  shares  the  thrill  of  emotion  with 
which  his  rider  gazes  on  the  snow-capped  Rockies  before 
him.  The  lower  animals  appear  to  pass  their  lives  on  the 
plane  of  sense  and  representative  imagery;  whereas  the 
mind  of  man  performs  the  functions  of  appreciation  and  con- 
struction in  accordance  with  the  norms  of  truth,  beauty,  and 
goodness.  Hence  to  man  alone  belong  science,  art,  and 
morality. 

In  spite  of  this,  however,  the  new-born  human  being  is 
virtually  on  a  par  with  the  lower  animals  so  far  as  his  actual 
power  to  make  aesthetic  judgments  and  to  experience  aes- 
thetic feelings  is  concerned.  He  surpasses  them  in  the 
promise  and  potency  of  his  nature,  in  what  he  may  become, 
rather  than  in  what  he  is.  The  human  infant  probably  ap- 

1  Among  many  of  the  lower  animals  the  wooing  of  the  female  by  the 
male  in  the  mating  season,  is  accompanied  by  much  display,  not  only  of 
strength  and  courage,  but  also  of  beauty,  in  form,  color,  and  movement. 
1  call  this  an  apparent  exception,  because  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  the 
phenomenon  can  be  interpreted  as  an  evidence  of  the  possession  by  these 
animals  of  an  aesthetic  faculty  in  any  proper  sense  of  that  term. 

148 


THE  APPRECIATION  OF  BEAUTY        149 

predates  as  little  as  the  dog  or  the  horse  the  artistic  setting 
of  his  breakfast,  or  the  grandeur  of  the  snow-clad  moun- 
tains. And  yet  the  difference  between  him  and  them  is 
world-wide ;  for,  unlike  them,  he  will  by  and  by  develop  that 
appreciation,  and  the  beauty  of  natural  and  artistic  forms 
will  make  its  appeal  to  his  consciousness.  He  will  do  by 
and  by  what  the  animal  never  does,  viz.,  arrange  his  food, 
his  clothing,  his  dwelling,  and  his  surroundings,  so  far  as 
possible,  in  such  a  way  as  to  minister,  not  only  to  his  physi- 
cal comfort,  but  also  to  his  aesthetic  gratification.  He  will 
pronounce  judgments  on  the  works  of  men's  hands,  includ- 
ing his  own,  as  to  their  beauty  or  ugliness,  in  accordance 
with  standards  and  categories  which  he  finds  within  the 
depths  of  his  own  being. 

In  the  course  of  development  from  childhood  to  maturity 
the  feeling  for  the  beautiful  passes  through  some  fairly 
definite  stages  of  progress.  Little  children  are  pleased 
with  pretty  things,  bright  colors,  rhythmic  movements 
(well  marked  as  to  time)  and  sounds  that  rhyme  together, 
even  though  the  similarity  of  sound  be  obtained  at  the  cost 
of  absurdity  or  superficiality  of  meaning.  Provided  the 
colors  be  bright  and  gay,  it  matters  little  whether  or  not 
they  blend  or  harmonize  well  in  a  total  color  scheme.1 
Provided  there  is  rhythm  in  a  series  of  movements,  and 
similar  sound  endings  in  a  series  of  words,  it  matters  little 
whether  the  movements  express  any  total  idea,  or  whether 
the  sounds  are  anything  more  than  a  jingle. 

With  later  childhood  there  comes  the  power  to  appreci- 
ate the  beauty  of  larger  complexes,  of  more  involved  totals, 
and  of  organisms  that  show  vigor  and  grace  in  their  forms 
or  movements.  Boys  from  nine  to  twelve  years  of  age  are 
usually  fond  of  animals  and  birds.  Towards  the  end  of 
this  period  they  begin  to  be  aware  of  their  inability  to  re- 
produce, in  a  drawing  or  a  clay  model,  all  that  they  are  now 
able  to  see  and  appreciate  in  these  living  creatures  about 

1  Primitive  races  show  the  same  fondness  for  bright  colors  and  the  tame 
indifference  to  the  relations  of  the  colors  in  a  total. 


150     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

them,  or  in  the  trees  and  flowers,  or  other  natural  objects. 
Appreciation  outruns  expression. 

But  it  is  in  youth  that  the  capacity  to  appreciate  beauty 
in  all  its  forms  makes  the  most  marked  advance.  The  dis- 
position to  respond  to  the  charm  of  the  beautiful  is  greatly 
quickened,  and  the  inability  to  give  fitting  expression  to  the 
feeling  for  the  beautiful  is  most  painfully  realized.  Ex- 
ternal nature  awakens  an  interest  not  previously  felt.  The 
flora  and  the  fauna,  the  sky,  the  woods,  the  winds  and 
waters,  storm,  sunshine,  and  the  procession  of  the  seasons, 
exert  upon  the  soul  a  mystic  and  potent  fascination.  There 
is  in  many  cases  a  strong  feeling  of  fellowship  with  the 
things  of  external  nature ;  a  feeling  which  seems  closely  akin 
to  the  religious  sentiment,  and  which  we  may  agree  with 
Lancaster  in  regarding  as  a  very  natural  point  of  departure 
for  the  culture  of  the  religious  life.1 

Turning  now  from  nature  to  art  I  am  inclined  to  say,  in 
view  of  all  the  evidence,  that  strictly  speaking,  in  the  deeper 
sense,  the  love  of  the  beautiful,  and  the  enthusiasm  for  the 
.  creations  of  the  artistic  faculty,  really  awaken  with  the  ado- 
lescent years.  It  is  quite  true,  as  I  have  said,  that  pretty 
things,  both  natural  and  artificial,  are  admired  by  children, 
and  used  as  playthings;  and  that  in  the  later  years  of  child- 
hood especially,  there  are  many  efforts  to  copy  or  reproduce 
some  of  these  things.  But  the  instinct  of  imitation,  and  the 
love  of  bright  colors,  obvious  rhymes,  and  rhythmical  move- 
ments, will  account  for  the  greater  part,  if  not  the  whole, 
of  these  phenomena.  But  in  the  adolescent  years  the  sources 
of  aesthetic  feeling  seem  to  deepen  and  expand,  so  that 
beauty  in  all  its  forms  makes  a  new  appeal  and  calls  forth 
a  stronger  and  more  intense  response. 

It  very  often  happens  that  these  newly  awakened  artistic 
enthusiasms  are  short-lived,  at  least  in  their  intenser  forms, 
and  that  it  is  only  the  more  sober  after-images  that  persist 
throughout  life,  but  the  interesting  point  for  us  is  that  the 

1  Lancaster,  Psychology  and  Pedagogy  of  Adolescence,  Fed.  Sem.,  Vol.  V, 
1897. 


enthusiasms  did  awaken,  and  thrilled  the  soul  and  gave  new 
interest  to  life,  even  though  but  for  a  time.  They  can  be 
called  evanescent  only  in  the  sense  that  they  do  not  in  every 
case  maintain  themselves  permanently  at  the  high  water 
mark  of  youthful  enthusiasm. 

A  boy  of  my  acquaintance  spent  twelve  months,  covering 
part  of  his  fourteenth  and  part  of  his  fifteenth  year,  in 
European  travel.     He  was  interested  practically  in  every- 
thing he  saw,  but  soon  developed  an  especial  interest  in  the 
great   cathedrals,   fine   college   buildings,   and   other   noble 
specimens  of  old-world  architecture.     Having  once  caught 
the  fever,  it  was  marvellous  with  what  abandon  he  threw 
himself  into  the  study  of  this  subject.     Whatever  else  he 
might  miss,  he  would  never  willingly  pass  a  cathedral  by. 
He  would  spend  hours  at  a  visit,  and  if  possible,  make  re- 
peated visits  to  each  one.     He  made  a  collection  of  photo- 
graphs and  other  pictures  of  these  buildings.     He  asked 
numberless  questions,  of  those  who  knew,  regarding  their 
history.     He  bought  books,  and  read  them,  on  the  various 
styles  of  architecture.     He  wrote  in  his  diary  elaborate  ac- 
counts of  these  great  structures.     He  gathered  together  so 
much  knowledge  on  this  subject  that  he  could  quite  well  have 
delivered  lectures   that  would   have   been  worth   hearing. 
And  yet,  after  his  return  from  Europe,  he  soon  ceased  to 
talk  much  on  this  subject,  and  apparently  lost  his  interest  in 
European  cathedrals.     It  would  be  a  great  mistake,  how- 
ever, to  suppose  that  this  entire  experience  was  valueless  be- 
cause    of     its     evanescent     character.     It     is     quite     true 
that   he    shows   no   signs   of   becoming   a   great   architect, 
or    even    a    superior    judge    and    critic    of    this    form    of 
art.     And  yet  no  doubt  he  got  what  he  really  needed  at 
that    particular     stage     of    his     career,     viz.,     a     period 
of  unrestrained   enjoyment   of   aesthetic   experience.     His 
spirit  revelled  for  a  time  in  this  form  of  beauty,  and  there 
is  no  question  whatever  that  all  the  remaining  years  of  his 
life  will  be  richer  and  more  fruitful  than  they  otherwise 
could  have  been,  on  account  of  that  experience.     Here  was 


152     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

a  natural  appetite,  of  which  he  was  scarcely  conscious  until 
his  eyes  fell  upon  the  noble  lines  of  Exeter  cathedral  which, 
as  it  happened,  was  the  first  one  he  visited.  This  had  the 
double  effect  of  both  awakening  the  appetite  and  beginning 
to  satisfy  it,  and  that  double  process  was  continued  by 
every  one  of  the  long  list  of  cathedrals,  colleges,  and  other 
buildings,  visited  during  his  tour. 

This  case  is  typical  of  what  is  happening  every  day  among 
young  people  of  this  age.  Such  experiences  as  these  consti- 
tute a  part  of  a  truly  "  liberal  "  education,  in  the  very  best 
sense  of  that  term,  an  education  in  which  there  is  no  thought 
of  results,  or  dividends,  or  even  vocational  values,  but  in 
which  the  spontaneous  hunger  of  the  soul  is  satisfied,  and 
the  native  love  of  beauty  for  its  own  sake,  absolutely  di- 
vorced from  every  utilitarian  consideration,  finds  its  outlet 
and  its  opportunity. 

Many  other  instances  might  be  given  of  the  passionate 
and  powerful  interest  taken  by  young  people  in  subjects  of 
an  aesthetic  character.  A  number  of  careful  observations 
touching  their  attitude  towards  music  convince  me  that  there 
is  in  many  cases  a  sudden  accession  of  interest  in  this  sub- 
ject soon  after  the  beginning  of  the  teens,  so  pronounced 
and  so  powerful  as  almost  to  amount  to  a  new  birth  of  the 
aesthetic  nature.  I  have  in  mind  at  this  moment  several 
concrete  cases.  In  childhood  these  persons  had  received 
instruction  in  music,  vocal  or  instrumental,  or  both,  and 
had  been  required  to  practise  regularly.  The  majority  of 
them  had  given  attention  to  their  lessons,  had  practised 
diligently,  and  had  made  good  progress,  but  had  not  shown 
any  special  enthusiasm  for  the  subject.  Their  attitude 
might  be  described  as  neutral.  They  betrayed  no  great 
fondness,  and  no  marked  dislike,  for  music.  They  did  their 
music  lessons,  as  they  did  their  work  at  school,  as  part  of 
the  accepted  routine,  and  because  it  was  required  at  their 
hands.  And  some  of  them  made  excellent  progress. 

But  when  these  same  boys  and  girls  were  about  fifteen 
or  sixteen  years  of  age  a  change  became  noticeable.  They 


THE  APPRECIATION  OF  BEAUTY        153 

began  to  love  music  for  its  own  sake,  as  was  evident  from 
their  increased  devotion  of  time  and  energy  to  it.  They 
would  remain  at  the  piano  or  the  violin  far  beyond  the  re- 
quired time.  They  voluntarily  connected  themselves  with 
musical  organizations,  such  as  orchestras,  chorus  choirs, 
bands,  string  quartettes,  and  the  like.  They  attended  con- 
certs and  operas  for  the  music's  sake.  They  studied  the 
compositions  of  the  great  masters,  and  even  attempted 
something  in  the  way  of  musical  composition  on  their  own 
account.  They  began  to  show  signs  of  displeasure  in  bad 
musical  jingles,  and  a  certain  amount  of  real  discrimina- 
tion in  regard  to  the  musical  qualities  of  a  piece.  They 
begged  to  have  their  musical  instruction  continued,  and  in 
some  cases  found  ways  of  earning  money  for  themselves, 
in  order  to  pay  for  these  lessons. 

In  many  other  ways  these  boys  and  girls  gave  evidence  of 
the  deep  and  abiding  hold  that  music  was  taking  upon  their 
interest  and  affection.  In  a  letter  written  by  one  of  them, 
who  was  about  fourteen  or  fifteen  at  the  time,  a  joy  in  music, 
and  a  spiritual  exaltation  in  the  pursuit  of  it,  are  evinced, 
for  the  expression  of  which  she  finds  no  terms  too  extrava- 
gant. She  ransacks  her  vocabulary  to  give  utterance  to 
her  feelings.  She  longs  to  be  a  great  musician,  a  great 
composer,  a  great  leader,  giving  out  to  others  the  joy  and 
uplift  that  comes  to  her  own  soul  in  music.  That  girl  has 
since  become  the  wife  of  a  business  man  and  the  mother 
of  a  small  family.  She  is  still  fond  of  music,  plays  the 
organ  in  the  village  church,  cultivates  music  in  her  own 
home,  and  teaches  it  to  her  children.  Beyond  this  limited 
area  her  adolescent  visions  have  not,  so  far,  been  realized, 
and  yet,  to  say  that  they  were  of  no  value  would  be  a  very 
hasty  and  superficial  conclusion. 

Of  the  development  of  the  taste  for  pictorial  art  almost 
the  same  thing  may  be  said  as  has  just  been  said  about  music. 
As  I  have  elsewhere  pointed  out,1  "  the  first  performance 
of  a  child  with  pencil  and  paper  is  merely  an  aimless  scrib- 

1  .Psychology  of  Childhood   (yth  ed.),  Boston,  1909,  Ch.  VI. 


154     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

ble,  involving,  on  the  mental  side,  nothing  more  than  an 
outflow  of  energy,  with  possibly  a  vague  sensori-motor 
imitation  of  movements  made  by  older  persons  in  his  pres- 
ence"; it  passes  on  from  that  to  become  imitative  in  the 
deeper  sense,  and  also  more  clearly  representative,  i.e.,  there 
is  a  growing  desire  to  transfer  to  paper  the  images  that 
are  in  the  mind.  The  development  of  the  drawing  instinct 
may  be  roughly  divided  into  three  periods,  the  impulsive- 
imitative,  the  representative,  and  the  constructive.  The 
first  is  characteristic  of  infancy,  the  second  of  childhood  and 
early  boyhood,  and  the  third  of  later  boyhood  and  youth; 
though  the  three  tendencies  overlap. 

In  regard  to  the  feeling  for  the  beautiful,  or  aesthetic 
appreciation,  youth  presents  an  interesting  contrast  to  child- 
hood. The  little  child  is  pleased  with  brightly  colored 
pictures,  even  gay  and  gaudy,  and  with  pictures  that  rep- 
resent, as  far  as  ordinary  pictures  may,  the  movements  of 
living  beings  or  machines.  Boats  sailing,  express  trains  at 
full  speed,  men  ploughing,  horses  drawing  vehicles,  chimneys 
belching  forth  vast  quantities  of  thick,  black  smoke;  and 
other  things  of  this  kind.  A  small  child  would  not  be  likely 
to  show  much  interest  in  a  landscape  painting  unless  it  con- 
tained animals  or  human  beings,  and  then  his  interest  would 
be  in  these  rather  than  in  the  landscape  as  such.  More- 
over, the  interest  of  the  little  child  in  things  of  this  sort  is 
almost  entirely  of  the  sensuous  character. 

But  in  the  early  teens  beauty  in  the  deeper  sense  secures 
recognition  and  appreciation.  The  power  to  appreciate, 
indeed,  as  I  have  said,  increases  so  rapidly  as  to  outrun  the 
power  to  produce.  Many  adolescents  lose  interest  in  draw- 
ing for  this  very  reason;  they  realize  their  inability  to  ex- 
press all  that  they  feel  and  think.  This  is  quite  in  accord 
with  what  we  know  of  youth  in  other  connexions,  and  with 
what  is  to  be  expected  from  the  general  laws  of  individual 
development.  Growth,  both  physical  and  emotional,  is  so 
rapid  that  the  development  of  skill  and  expressive  power  is 
not  able  to  keep  pace  with  it.  At  no  other  time  in  life, 


THE  APPRECIATION  OF  BEAUTY        155 

perhaps,  is  one  so  conscious  of  his  utter  inability  to  express 
all  that  he  feels,  whether  by  speech  or  by  any  other  of  the 
media  of  expression,  as  in  the  years  from  fourteen  to  eight- 
een. Feeling  and  sentiment  are  powerful,  but  the  power  to 
direct  these  along  motor  lines,  and  to  give  them  expression 
in  motor  terms,  is  not  yet  highly  developed.  According  to 
Lukens  x  and  others,  this  relative  impotence  of  the  power 
of  expression  remains  throughout  nearly  the  whole  period  of 
the  teens,  though  the  discrepancy  grows  less  towards  the 
end  of  the  period. 

But  we  may  speak  more  definitely  than  this  in  regard  to 
aesthetic  appreciation.  The  dependence  of  the  interest  on 
movement  and  figure  in  the  object  grows  somewhat  less,  and 
such  forms  of  the  beautiful  as  are  shown  in  landscape  with- 
out figures  become  more  interesting.  Quieter  colors  also 
are  sought  and  appreciated,  rather  than  the  bright  and  gaudy 
hues  that  hold  the  attention  of  the  child.  Movement  at- 
tracts more  through  its  gracefulness  and  less  through  its 
accent;  form  appeals  in  a  new  and  larger  way,  through  the 
totality  of  the  impression  it  makes,  and  through  the  mean- 
ing of  that  totality.  Symmetry  and  balance,  as  shown  in 
the  grace  and  beauty  of  a  tree,  a  bird,  a  poem,  a  melody,  as 
a  whole,  have  more  to  do  with  the  feeling  of  pleasure  than 
before. 

Needless  to  say,  the  human  form,  with  the  added  charm 
of  graceful  draperies,  begins  to  exert  a  spell  not  heretofore 
dreamed  of.  -  This  charm  lies  not  in  one  single  feature,  but 
in  the  combination  of  features  in  the  total.  Color,  of  the 
eyes,  of  the  cheeks,  of  the  lips,  hands,  hair,  teeth,  and  even 
of  the  garments;  form,  including  proportion,  as  in  the  rela- 
tion between  the  height  and  the  breadth  of  the  figure,  and 
the  relative  lengths  of  the  parts;  the  curves  of  the  physical 
outline,  and  the  comparative  size  of  the  various  features 
and  parts  in  relation  to  one  another  and  to  the  whole; 
movements,  such  as  the  length  of  the  step  in  relation  to  the 
length  of  the  limbs  and  of  the  whole  body,  the  swing  of  the 

i  Lukens,  A  Study  of  Children's  Drawings,  Fed.  Sera.,  Vol.  IV,  1896. 


156     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

arms,  the  carriage  of  the  head,  the  manner  of  flexion  in 
every  joint  and  of  contraction  and  relaxation  in  every 
muscle;  all  these,  as  well  as  the  habitual  tones  of  the  voice, 
and  all  the  countless  subtle  nuances  of  manner  and  bear- 
ing, are  factors  in  the  determination  of  the  measure  of 
physical  charm,  as  embodied  in  the  human  personality. 

That  there  exists  a  close  relation  between  this  awakening 
of  the  aesthetic  nature  and  the  unfolding  of  the  sex  life, 
with  which  it  is  contemporary,  there  can  be  no  doubt.  Many 
writers  have  referred  to  this  rather  obvious  connexion,  as 
well  as  to  that  between  the  artistic  and  the  religious  instincts; 
and  some  1  have  explained  it  by  finding  the  common  root  of 
all  these  instincts  in  "  the  fundamental  quality  of  erethism 
found  in  every  animal  cell."  Though  the  explanation  is 
hardly  specific  enough  to  be  of  much  service,  there  is  no 
reason  to  doubt  the  existence  of  a  common  feature  in  these 
interests.  Sexual  love,  the  passion  for  beauty,  religious 
fervor,  and  moral  enthusiasm,  alike  require  the  concept  of 
value  in  the  object  to  which  the  feeling  is  directed.  In  each 
case  there  is  the  idea  of  an  object,  to  which  is  attributed 
some  quality  or  qualities  that  are  regarded  as  excellent  in 
some  one  or  other  of  the  great  meanings  of  that  term.  In 
one  case  it  is  an  object  in  external  nature,  animate  or  in- 
animate, in  which  beauty,  of  form,  or  color,  or  movement, 
is  to  be  found.  In  another  it  is  some  product  of  the  hand 
of  man,  in  which,  as  in  the  previous  case,  some  noble  idea 
or  conception  is  embodied.  Again  it  is  a  human  form, 
which  impresses  the  beholder  by  its  beauty  of  outline  and 
its  grace  of  motion,  reinforced,  as  we  are  usually  ready  to 
believe,  by  deeper,  non-sensuous  qualities,  having  equal  or 
greater  value  than  the  sensuous.  Moral  excellence,  espe- 
cially, enhances  physical  charm.  "  Handsome  is  that  hand- 
some does."  Indeed,  it  is  a  testimony  to  the  close  con- 
nexion between  art  and  morals,  that  goodness  and  physical 
ugliness  are  seldom  thought  together  if  it  is  possible  to  think 
them  apart,  as  it  usually  is. 

1  E.  g. —  Scott,  Sex  and  Art,  Am.  Journ.  Psy.,  Vol.  VII,  1895-6. 


THE  APPRECIATION  OF  BEAUTY        157 

Finally,  in  the  higher  forms  of  religion,  the  supreme  ob- 
ject of  devotion  and  worship  is  thought  of  as  possessing  in 
Himself  all  excellences  in  their  most  perfect  form,  includ- 
ing, in  a  sense,  even  physical  beauty.  For  does  He  not 
clothe  himself  with  light  as  with  a  garment?  And  are  not 
all  the  beautiful  things  that  nature  presents  to  our  view 
just  a  manifestation  of  Himself  under  forms  that  can  be 
apprehended  by  the  human  understanding? 

Provided  the  sex  feeling  be  understood  in  the  broad  sense 
in  which  we  have  defined  it,  as  an  emotion  that  radiates 
through  all  the  life  of  feeling,  and  exerts  its  influence  far 
beyond  the  limits  of  those  experiences  that  are  ordinarily 
associated  with  the  term,  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  its  inti- 
mate connexion  with  the  feeling  of  the  beautiful.  This 
wider  conception  of  the  matter  is  justified  by  the  fact  that 
the  attraction  of  the  opposite  sex  extends  beyond  the  merely 
physical,  and  includes  many  traits  that  must  be  ranked  as 
purely  aesthetic.  And  while  I  have  no  doubt  at  all  that 
personal  beauty,  enhanced  by  personal  adornment,  on  the 
part  of  one  sex,  acts  as  a  stimulus  to  the  passion  of  the 
other,  I  am  equally  sure  that  it  acts,  also,  as  a  preventative 
against  the  unbridled  indulgence  of  that  passion.  For  there 
is  something  sacred  in  real  beauty;  something  that  evokes  a 
sort  of  reverence  and  worship,  and  puts  to  silence  the 
coarser  and  more  licentious  promptings. 

That  love  and  beauty  are  associated  naturally  and 
strongly  in  the  human  mind  is  further  evident  from  the  fact 
that  the  chief  forms  of  creative  art  have  been  used  largely 
in  the  portrayal  or  the  celebration  of  the  passion  of  love. 
Love  is  the  theme  of  a  large  part  of  our  poetic  literature, 
of  our  music,  and  of  the  pictorial  art.  And  the  true  artistic 
quality  of  a  poem,  a  song,  or  a  picture,  is  to  be  measured 
to  a  large  degree  by  the  success  of  the  artist  in  portraying 
or  expressing  love  in  its  higher  and  more  ideal  forms,  in 
which  its  grosser  elements  are  taken  up  and  sublimated. 
The  classic  exposition  of  the  culmination  of  this  process  is 
to  be  seen  in  the  Symposium  of  Plato,  where  Socrates  and 


158     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

his  companions  follow  the  process  of  love  as  it  goes  on 
from  the  desire  for  some  single  beautiful  object,  through 
generalization  after  generalization,  until  the  climax  is 
crowned  in  the  pure  love  of  absolute  beauty  as  such.  "  He 
who  has  been  instructed  thus  far  in  the  things  of  love,  and 
who  has  learned  to  see  the  beautiful  in  due  order  and  suc- 
cession, when  he  comes  toward  the  end  will  suddenly  per- 
ceive a  nature  of  wondrous  beauty  —  a  nature  which  in  the 
first  place  is  everlasting,  not  growing  and  decaying,  or  wax- 
ing and  waning;  in  the  next  place  not  fair  in  one  point  of 
view  and  foul  in  another,  or  at  one  time  or  in  one  relation 
or  at  one  place  fair,  at  another  time  or  in  another  relation 
or  at  another  place  foul,  as  if  fair  to  some  and  foul  to 
others,  or  in  the  likeness  of  a  face  or  hands  or  any  other  part 
of  the  bodily  frame,  or  in  any  form  of  speech  or  knowledge, 
or  existing  in  any  other  being,  as  for  example,  in  an  animal, 
or  in  heaven,  or  in  earth,  or  in  any  other  place,  but  beauty 
only,  absolute,  separate,  simple,  and  everlasting,  which, 
without  diminution  and  without  increase,  or  any  change,  is 
imparted  to  the  ever-growing  and  perishing  beauties  of  all 
other  things.  He  who,  under  the  influence  of  true  love  ris- 
ing upward  from  these,  begins  to  see  that  beauty,  is  not  far 
from  the  end.  And  the  true  order  of  going  or  being  led 
by  another  to  the  things  of  love,  is  to  use  the  beauties  of 
earth  as  steps  along  which  he  mounts  upwards  for  the  sake 
of  that  other  beauty,  going  from  one  to  two,  and  from  two 
to  all  fair  forms,  and  from  fair  forms  to  fair  practices,  and 
from  fair  practices  to  fair  notions,  until  from  fair  notions 
he  arrives  at  the  notion  of  absolute  beauty,  and  at  last  knows 
the  essence  of  beauty  is."  l 

degree  to  which  love  is  affiliated  with  beauty,  and 
beauty  in  its  highest  forms  stimulates,  controls,  and  deter- 
mines love,  is  no  unworthy  gauge  of  our  civilization. 
Where  nature  is  appreciated,  where  art  is  refined,  where 
music  is  spiritual,  and  where  goodness  is  attractive,  there 
love  is  exalted,  redeemed  of  its  coarseness,  and  robbed,  not 

1  Jowett's  translation. 


THE  APPRECIATION  OF  BEAUTY        159 

of  its  sensuous  but  of  its  sensual  qualities.  To  the  mind  of 
a  youth  whose  privilege  it  has  been  to  live  in  such  an  at- 
mosphere the  maiden  of  his  choice  appears  as  the  best  em- 
bodiment within  his  acquaintance  of  the  ideal  of  beauty,  in 
this  higher  and  wider  sense,  and  as  the  one  who  best  among 
finite  beings  satisfies  his  desire  for  the  beautiful  and  for 
communion  therewith^ 

What  I  should  like  to  make  clear,  in  all  this,  is  the  neces- 
sity, here,  as  in  other  branches  of  our  subject,  of  making  our 
interpretations  in  terms  of  value,  and  our  valuations  in 
terms  of  personality.  Aesthetic  values,  like  moral  and  reli- 
gious values,  are  in  the  last  analysis  idealistic  and  personal. 
Beauty  is  an  idea,  ever  struggling  to  express  itself  in  all 
the  beautiful  forms  of  nature  and  art,  and  never,  in  finite 
experience,  wholly  succeeding.  The  conception  of  perfect 
beauty,  of  which  this  or  that  beautiful  thing  is  but  a  partial 
and  limited  expression,  hovers  over  each  aesthetic  phase  of 
human  effort,  giving  to  it  its  stimulus,  and  at  the  same  time 
making  it  impossible  for  any  finite  product  to  yield  absolute 
satisfaction.  This  is  because  beauty  is  an  idea,  and  perfect 
beauty  an  ideal,  not  to  be  explained  on  naturalistic  grounds, 
but  as  a  "  revelation  from  spirit  to  spirit."  Or,  to  quote 
again  from  the  distinguished  writer  to  whom  the  above 
phrase  belongs,  "  it  is  only  in  a  theistic  setting  that  beauty 
can  retain  its  deepest  meaning,  and  love  its  brightest 
lustre."  1 

Never  are  we  more  ready,  and  never  more  fit,  than  in 
youth,  to  define  beauty  in  this  idealistic  fashion,  and  to 
regard  every  beautiful  form,  either  as  a  quality  of  the  spirit, 
or  as  a  product  of  its  activity.  And  so  art  and  morals  and 
religion  draw  together,  and  become  allies  in  the  noblest  of 
all  causes,  that  of  emancipating  the  soul  of  youth  from  the 
bondage  of  sensuality,  and  enabling  it  to  take  hold  upon 
the  things  that  are  unseen  and  eternal. 

iBalfour,   Theism   and  Humanism    (Gifford  Lectures    1914),   Lect.  X. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   MORAL   LIFE 

A  good  deal  may  be  said  in  support  of  the  proposition 
that  the  most  certain  differentia  marking  off  the  human  be- 
ing from  all  lower  forms  of  being  on  this  earth  is  his  pos- 
session of  a  moral  nature,  involving  the  capacity  of  moral 
discrimination  and  the  consciousness  of  moral  obligation. 
The  intellectual  life,  though  in  its  higher  manifestations  a 
peculiarly  human  prerogative,  is  nevertheless,  on  its  lower 
and  simpler  levels,  shared  by  the  brutes;  but  there  is  no 
conclusive  evidence  of  their  participation  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  moral  responsibility.  Many  of  them,  it  is  true,  are 
richly  endowed  with  instincts  of  various  sorts,  and  with 
natural  feelings  of  affection  and  aversion.  Like  us,  they 
show  fear  in  some  circumstances,  anger  in  others,  love  in 
others.  Like  us,  they  perform  many  acts,  which,  at  first 
instinctive,  become  habitual  through  repetition.  Some  of 
these  instinctive  reactions  serve  their  purpose  in  the  pre- 
servation of  the  individual,  and  others  in  the  preservation  of 
offspring  or  in  the  promotion  of  the  interests  of  the  social 
group,  the  herd  or  the  flock.  The  marriage  relation,  the 
family  circle  and  the  social  order,  all  find  their  parallels  and 
counterparts  among  the  brutes,  who  establish  homes,  rear 
families,  and  maintain  a  community  life  in  many  cases  re- 
markable for  the  completeness  of  its  organization.  Paren- 
tal affection  is  exceedingly  strong  among  many  of  them,  and 
they  will  make  any  sacrifice,  endure  any  hardship,  and  fight 
to  the  last  drop  of  their  blood,  if  need  be,  in  defence  of 
their  young.  Most  species  of  birds  and  animals  pay  scrupu- 
lous regard  to  personal  cleanliness,  and  to  the  sanitation  of 
their  homes,  whether  these  be  nests,  dens,  or  holes  in  the 

160 


THE  MORAL  LIFE  161 

earth.  Most  of  them  are  amenable  to  domestic  and  social 
discipline  among  themselves,  and  to  training  at  the  hands 
of  man.  The  loyalty  and  devotion  with  which  they  respond 
to  kindly  treatment  are  proverbial. 

Yet  in  spite  of  all  these  admirable  and  interesting  quali- 
ties, it  is  more  than  doubtful  whether  the  lower  animals 
could  be  called  moral  beings,  within  the  proper  meaning  of 
that  term.  For  the  essence  of  morality  is  the  capacity  of 
apprehending  a  good  which  is  good  in  itself,  and  not  for  any 
merely  extraneous  reason,  and  of  deliberately  seeking  that 
good,  not  through  compulsion,  training  or  habit  merely,  but 
on  its  own  account.  A  moral  nature  involves  the  power  to 
conceive  ideals  and  to  strive  for  their  realization,  which 
means  the  power  to  think  of  personality  and  life  as  possess- 
ing a  meaning  and  value  apart  from  the  satisfaction  of  any 
immediate  need  of  the  organism  or  the  gratification  of  any 
particular  or  transient  desire.  The  most  highly  developed 
"  conduct "  of  the  animals,  even  the  noblest  of  them,  seems 
deficient  in  these  distinctive  and  essential  features  of  genuine 
morality. 

To  this  the  reply  might  be  made,  that  it  all  applies  with 
equal  force,  and  in  some  cases  with  even  greater  force,  to 
the  human  being,  at  least  in  the  first  period  of  his  life.  The 
human  child  is  no  more  conscious  of  ideals,  and  of  an  abso- 
lute good,  and  of  moral  obligation,  than  the  lower  animal. 
He  appears  to  be  even  less  scrupulous  about  his  actions  than 
many  young  animals;  his  behavior  seems  even  less  controlled 
by  definite  ends  than  theirs,  and  quite  as  easily  explained  by 
compulsion,  training  and  habit. 

This  may  all  be  freely  conceded,  and  yet  the  vital  dif- 
ference between  the  two  remains  unimpaired.  For  the  im- 
portant point  is  that  the  human  child  is  capable  of  moral 
ideals,  moral  motives,  and  moral  conduct,  in  their  full  sense, 
as  is  shown  by  his  attainment  of  these  during  the  course  of 
his  development.  That  the  moral  nature  builds  itself  up 
gradually,  on  the  basis  of  instinct,  by  means  of  experience 
and  training,  is  no  impugnment  of  its  reality.  If  the  human 


1 62      THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

child  can  ever  come  into  the  full  possession  of  his  moral 
birthright,  by  dint  of  no  matter  how  much  instruction  and 
training,  then  his  moral  supremacy  is  established,  and  the 
value  of  that  training  and  instruction  proven. 

In  the  moral  life  there  are  two  principal  features  or 
marks;  first,  certain  requirements  are  laid  on  the  individual 
in  reference  to  conduct;  and  second,  a  response  is  made  by 
the  individual  to  those  requirements.  In  that  conduct  which 
is  moral  in  the  truest  sense,  that  is,  from  which  every  ad- 
ventitious element  has  been  eliminated,  the  requirements 
are  self-imposed,  and  the  response  is  made  without  external 
constraint.  Now  in  childhood  neither  of  these  marks  is 
fully  realized.  The  requirements  are  made  by  external 
authority,  and  the  child's  response  to  these  requirements  is 
partly  through  physical  direction,  partly  through  instinct, 
and  presently  through  habit.  Pleasure  and  pain,  in  milder 
or  severer  forms,  as  the  necessities  of  the  case  may  require, 
are  made  to  play  their  part  in  showing  him  what  to  do 
and  what  to  avoid  doing.  And  so  he  obtains  his  first  ink- 
ling of  what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong  in  the  concrete,  by 
observing  and  remembering  what  is  required  of  him  by 
those  who  have  authority  over  him.  He  begins  his  moral 
education  by  learning  to  distinguish  the  things  which  he  is 
told  to  do  from  the  things  which  he  is  told  not  to  do.  "  And 
as  he  receives  these  commands  and  prohibitions  usually  from 
persons  for  whom  he  entertains  strong  affection,  and  in 
whose  wisdom  he  reposes  implicit  confidence,  it  is  not  at  all 
unnatural  that  powerful  links  of  association  should  be  forged 
in  his  mind  between  the  right  and  the  commanded  on  the 
one  hand,  and  between  the  wrong  and  the  forbidden  on  the 
other;  and  that  the  childish  judgment  should  begin  to  form 
itself,  provisionally  and  tentatively,  '  Perhaps  the  right 
means,  what  I  am  told  to  do,  and  the  wrong  what  I  am  told 
not  to  do.'  "  x  But  by  degrees  he  goes  far  beyond  the  point 
to  which  these  ideas  would  lead  him.  Many  circumstances 

1  Tracy,   The  Little  Child  and  the  Moral  Order,  Proc.     Ontario  Educa- 
tion Assoc.,   1916. 


THE  MORAL  LIFE  163 

suggest  to  his  mind  the  thought  that  the  right  cannot  be  ab- 
solutely identified  with  the  commanded,  nor  with  that  which 
brings  pleasant  consequences,  nor  the  wrong  with  that  which 
is  forbidden,  or  with  that  which  brings  painful  consequences. 
He  finds  that  the  right,  the  commanded,  and  the  pleasant, 
cannot  by  any  means  be  uniformly  identified  with  one  an- 
other. 

By  the  time  he  reaches  the  adolescent  age,  if  not  before, 
the  conceptions  of  right  and  duty  have  become  fairly  well 
detached,  in  his  mind,  from  everything  adventitious;  they 
have  ceased  to  be  dependent  on  any  conditions  outside  them- 
selves, and  have  secured  recognition  on  their  own  account. 
The  mind  is  beginning  to  comprehend  the  meaning  of  moral 
principles  as  distinguished  from  arbitrary  rules,  and  of  ab- 
solute as  distinguished  from  relative  values.  It  takes  in 
the  momentous  idea  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  right  that 
does  not  depend  on  external  conditions,  such  as  laws  or 
consequences,  but  is  in  itself  right,  and  that  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  a  duty  which  is  not  made  such  by  any  external 
command,  but  would  be  one's  duty  even  though  it  were  not 
commanded  at  all;  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  good  that 
is  not  made  so  by  its  power  to  produce  good  things,  but  is 
in  itself  good,  shining,  as  Kant  says,  like  a  diamond,  by  its 
own  light.  This  marks  the  movement  from  external  to 
inner  morality.  It  is  in  adolescence  that  the  most  rapid 
advances  are  made  towards  a  real  inner  interpretation  of 
duty,  in  which  it  is  recognized  and  accepted  as  carrying  its 
own  credentials  and  standing  in  no  need  of  "  sanctions  "  of 
any  external  sort  whatever.  This  position  is  not  gained  in 
a  day;  it  is  not  attained  fully  in  the  period  of  youth,  if 
indeed,  at  any  time  in  life.  But  yet  there  is  no  doubt  that 
its  most  marked  development  takes  place  between  the  ages 
of  twelve  and  twenty-four,  the  age  when  life-ideals  take 
form,  and  judgments  are  made  as  to  the  absolute  worth  of 
this  or  that  type  of  character.  It  is  the  age  of  passionate 
devotion  to  those  ideals,  and  to  those  persons  in  whom  they 
seem  most  nearly  realized.  And  so  it  comes  home  to  the 


1 64     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

mind  that  these  things  arc  not  made  good  and  worthy  by 
anything  external  to  themselves;  they  are  good  and  worthy 
in  themselves  alone.  And  with  this  the  categorical  impera- 
tive, with  all  its  momentous  consequences  for  life  and  char- 
acter, becomes  consciously  and  reflectively  operative  in  the 
life  of  action  and  choice. 

More  than  once  already  we  have  referred  to  the  fitful- 
ness  of  adolescent  character,  and  pointed  out  some  of  its 
causes.  These  causes  operate  also  in  the  moral  sphere. 
Some  of  the  highest  aspirations,  and  some  of  the  lowest 
lapses,  may  be  found  in  the  same  person.  No  ideal  is  too 
exalted  to  be  cherished  by  persons  at  this  age;  and  it  must 
be  admitted,  on  the  other  hand,  that  there  is  scarcely  any 
excess,  scarcely  any  surrender  to  the  lower  tastes  and  pas- 
sions, of  which  instances  may  not  be  found  among  the  records 
of  adolescent  life.  All  this  proves,  of  course,  not  that  youth 
is  superlatively  good  or  extremely  wicked,  but  only  that  it  is 
capable  of  all  goodness  (for  a  man's  true  measure  is  to  be 
found  in  his  ideals)  and  at  the  same  time  defective,  as  yet, 
in  that  control  and  balance  of  character  which  is  the  pre- 
rogative of  rational  beings. 

We  may  expect,  then,  to  find  many  extremes  in  the 
moral  life  of  the  adolescent.  His  conscience,  for  the  most 
part  sane  and  reasonably  sensitive,  may  at  times  appear  cal- 
lous and  depraved  on  the  one  hand,  or  morbidly  scrupulous 
and  exacting  on  the  other.  That  lack  of  breadth  and  per- 
spective, characteristic  of  the  immature  mind,  combined  with 
an  accession  of  moral  idealism  common  in  youth,  may  result, 
and  often  does  result,  in  a  superfine  sensitiveness  about 
truth,  honor,  and  fidelity  to  promises;  and  infinite  pains  are 
often  taken  to  tithe  the  mint  and  anise  and  cummin,  and 
to  make  sure  that  no  jot  or  tittle  is  left  undone,  of  all  that 
the  most  exact  interpretation  is  able  to  find,  in  the  duty  of 
the  moment.  The  writer  distinctly  remembers  a  period  in 
his  own  life  when  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  utter  any 
words  that  were  not  literally  and  exactly  true,  under  any 
circumstances  whatever,  without  great  pain  of  conscience; 


THE  MORAL  LIFE  165 

even  though  the  words  in  question  might  be  a  perfectly  harm- 
less jest,  by  which  no  one  was  deceived,  and  no  harm  done. 
There  is  in  persons  of  this  age  an  "  appetite  for  the  ab- 
solute "  as  someone  has  called  it,  that  is  impatient  of  every- 
thing that  looks  like  compromise,  especially  on  moral  ques- 
tions, and  is  not  satisfied  with  anything  short  of  perfection. 
But  "  perfection  "  is  inadequately  interpreted.  It  is  taken 
in  a  rigid,  mechanical,  quantitative  sense.  No  allowance  is 
made  for  progress,  hope,  and  expansion,  from  day  to  day. 
Everything  must  be  perfect  now,  numerically  and  quantita- 
tively so.  It  is  not  clearly  seen  that  ideals,  from  their  very 
nature,  are  dynamic,  expansive  and  appealing,  that  their 
function  is  to  beckon  and  allure  rather  than  to  drive  and 
exact.  Hence  all  those  curious  cases,  recorded  in  answers 
to  questionnaires,  of  meticulous  scrupulosity  of  conscience, 
that  worries  and  frets  over  the  most  insignificant  and  un- 
intentional transgressions. 

In  so  far  as  all  this  is  the  outcome  of  the  habit  of  self- 
examination  and  introspection  carried  to  an  extreme,  it 
should  be  discouraged.  It  is  inevitable,  of  course,  that  with 
the  transition  from  childhood  to  youth,  attention  should  be 
turned  more  to  the  self,  and  that  the  subjective  world,  the 
realm  of  feeling  and  thought  and  desire,  should  share  with 
the  objective  world  in  arousing  the  interest  of  the  individ- 
ual and  in  occupying  his  thought.  But  where  this  is  per- 
mitted to  run  to  excess  in  exaggerated  self-scrutiny,  the  re- 
sult is  almost  certain  to  be  disastrous.  Natural  growth  is 
all-sided  and  symmetrical,  engaging  all  the  powers  and  facul- 
ties of  mind  and  body,  directing  them  towards  and  exercising 
them  upon  that  which  is  without  as  well  as  that  which  is 
within.  Undue  concentration  upon  one's  own  inner  life, 
especially  upon  one's  feelings,  moods^and  fancies,  tends  to 
their  exaggeration,  to  the  paralysis  of  the  spontaneities 
of  volition,  and  to  the  obscuration  of  interest  in  the  outer 
order,  both  natural  and  social.  A  conscientious  youth, 
whose  ideals  are  high,  and  whose  longing  is  for  moral 
achievement,  should  he  spend  too  much  time  in  the  process 


1 66     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

of  introspective  analysis,  dissection  of  his  own  motives,  and 
self-diagnosis,  is  likely  to  regard  himself  in  a  too  unfavor- 
able light,  and  to  believe  himself  much  worse,  morally,  than 
he  really  is;  exactly  in  the  same  way  as  certain  persons,  who 
have  acquired  the  habit  of  brooding  over  their  physical  con- 
dition, and  studying  the  symptoms  described  in  patent  medi- 
cine advertisements,  find  it  easy  to  conclude  that  they  are  the 
victims  of  well-nigh  every  disease  known  to  medical  science. 
The  cure  for  both  is  not  in  patent  medicines,  either  for  the 
body  or  for  the  mind,  but  in  more  of  the  outward  look,  a 
larger  absorption  in  what  lies  out-of-doors,  more  genuine 
interest  in  the  joys  of  others,  and  even  in  their  sorrows,  and, 
perhaps  most  important  of  all,  more  activity,  more  directed 
activity,  having  interesting  ends  in  view,  and  requiring  physi- 
cal exertion  and  mental  concentration.  Moral  as  well  as 
physical  hypochondria  is  traceable  in  large  measure  to  self- 
absorption,  and  the  most  effectual  method  of  its  correction 
lies  in  setting  up  a  counter-current,  a  stream  of  interests  and 
activities  flowing  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  exerting  the 
"  expulsive  power  of  a  new  affection." 

Not  only  do  extreme  self-depreciation  and  self-condem- 
nation result  in  the  paralysis  of  vigorous  and  healthful  ac- 
tivity; but  conversely,  vigorous  and  healthful  activity,  by 
diverting  attention  from  the  self,  has  the  effect  of  breaking 
up  this  morbid  self-distrust  and  self-contempt.  Hypercon- 
scientiousness,  which  is  often  indicative  of  abnormal  nerve- 
strain,  and  consists  to  a  great  degree  in  mere  irritability,  is 
to  be  corrected  by  a  restoration  of  the  proper  balance  be- 
tween the  reflective  and  the  volitional  activities. 

But  the  opposite  extremes  show  themselves  also  in  adoles- 
cence, which,  as  we  have  said,  seems  to  be  the  age  of  ex- 
tremes. Side  by  side  with  the  most  exaggerated  conscien- 
tiousness, and  the  most  passionate  longing  for  moral  recti- 
tude, there  may  be  found  powerful  impulses  to  sins  and 
crimes,  that,  in  the  period  of  childhood,  would  never  have 
occurred  to  the  mind,  even  in  the  remotest  way.  Many 
adolescents  have  testified  to  the  shock  and  surprise  they  felt, 


THE  MORAL  LIFE  167 

to  find  that  suggestions  of  the  most  horrible  crimes  came  as 
it  were  unbidden  to  their  minds.  It  seems  as  though  the 
adolescent  discovers  his  own  powers,  both  to  do  good  and  to 
do  evil;  and  the  discovery  is  sometimes  as  startling  as  the 
discovery  that  one  is  standing  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice. 
Nor  does  it  always  end  in  the  mere  thought  or  imagination 
of  crime.  It  must  be  admitted  that  many  crimes  are  com- 
mitted by  adolescents,  more,  indeed,  between  the  ages  of 
fourteen  and  eighteen  than  in  any  other  period  of  equal 
length  up  to  maturity.  K-is  interesting  to  note  that  the 
age  in  which  the  crime-curve  reaches  its  apex,  viz.,  about 
fifteen,  is  nearly  coincident  with  the  age  in  which  the  largest 
number  of  positive  decisions  in  favor  of  the  higher  life  are 
taken)  The  curve  of  conversion  reaches  its  apex  at  about 
sixteen.  It  would  appear  as  though  the  force  of  the  moral 
and  spiritual  impulses,  in  both  directions,  culminates  about 
the  middle  of  the  teens,  and  consequently  we  find  here  the 
greatest  number  of  positive  eruptions  of  the  inner  energies, 
both  in  the  direction  of  the  good  and  in  the  direction  of  the 
ev'A, 

../Comparing  youth  with  childhood  in  regard  to  these 
things,  we  find  some  interesting  differences,  (children  up 
to  the  age  of  twelve  or  thirteen  are  prone  to  wiTfulness  and 
waywardness,  to  truancy,  to  thoughtless  cruelty,  and  to  faults 
of  temper  (all  of  which  should  perhaps  be  called  faults 
rather  than  crimes)  while  boys  and  girls  beyond  that  age 
are  more  likely  to  commit  offences  against  the  rights  of  prop- 
erty or  of  personality.  Nearly  half  of  all  thefts  are  com- 
mitted by  persons  who  are  not  yet  of  age;  and  the  great 
majority  between  twelve  and  twenty-one.1  Crimes  against 
property  include  not  only  theft,  but  wanton  destruction  of 
property  as  in  the  rough  pranks  of  students  in  colleges  and 
of  pupils  in  high  schools;  and  the  practical  jokes  perpetrated 
by  boys  on  Hallowe'en  or  any  other  occasion  devoted  by 
tradition  and  custom  to  this  sort  of  pastime^  Children 

1 "  Between   twelve    and    fifteen,"   says   President   Hall,    "  theft    leads    all 
other  forms  of  crime."    Adolescence,  Vol.  I,  Ch.  V. 


i68     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

rarely  think  of  this  kind  of  thing,  except  in  the  way  of 
thoughtless  imitation;  and  in  adult  life  it  has  in  most  cases 
so  completely  lost  its  charm  that  many  of  the  frolics  of 
youth  seem  as  utterly  silly  and  pointless  as  the  antics  of 
the  proverbial  March  hare.  More  serious  acts,  such  as  de- 
struction of  property  by  fire  or  by  explosives,  arise  usually 
from  the  same  inner  tendencies,  namely  the  love  of  excite- 
ment and  the  need  of  vigorous  action  and  strong  emotion, 
rather  than  from  criminal  motives  in  the  strict  sense.  The 
same  explanation  accounts  for  most  cases  of  intoxication  at 
this  age.  In  a  vast  number  of  cases  the  first  drink  was 
taken  in  the  teens,  and  the  highest  number  of  first  intoxica- 
tions would  probably  be  found  to  occur  about  the  sixteenth 
year. 

Some  interesting  differences  are  to  be  noticed  between  the 
sexes,  in  this  as  in  other  matters.  As  might  be  expected, 
boys  are  more  likely  to  commit  crimes  of  a  violent  or  aggres- 
sive character,  such  as  the  destruction  of  property,  or  injury 
to  persons.  Petty  theft,  however,  seems  quite  as  common 
among  girls  as  among  boys,  while  petty  deceptions  and  false- 
hoods are  more  so.  Girls  are  more  likely  to  steal  things 
of  an  ornamental  nature,  such  as  jewelry  or  other  personal 
ornaments,  while  acts  of  theft  that  require  violence,  and 
forcible  deprivation  of  the  owner  of  the  property,  are  more 
common  among  boys.  Girls  are  more  prone  to  conceal  the 
stolen  article  and  tell  lies  about  it  than  boys  are ;  though  they 
have  no  monopoly  of  this  vice.  Boys,  whose  fighting  in- 
stincts are  much  developed  from  puberty,  may  defend  their 
possession  of  the  stolen  property  with  their  fists,  instead  of 
concealing  the  article  and  diverting  suspicion  by  falsehood. 
Girls,  again,  are  much  more  prone  to  the  vices  of  envy  and 
jealousy  than  boys,  on  account  of  the  fact  that  they  value, 
much  more  highly  than  boys  do,  those  personal  gifts  and 
graces  which  are  likely  to  attract  attention  and  win  friends, 
whether  of  their  own  sex,  or  of  the  other. 

Regarding  the  vice  of  lying,  the  first  thing  to  be  noticed  is 
that  this  vice,  understood  as  the  conscious  perversion  of  the 


THE  MORAL  LIFE  169 

truth,  in  statements  made  to  others  by  word  of  mouth,  in 
writing,  or  by  any  other  sign  which  can  be  made  the  vehicle 
for  the  conveyance  of  ideas  and  judgments,  and  made  with 
the  intention  to  deceive,  is  much  less  common  among  young 
children  than  would  appear  on  the  surface.  So  many  of 
their  statements  are  untrue  as  a  matter  of  literal  fact,  that 
the  casual  observer  might  easily  conclude  that  they  are 
greatly  addicted  to  the  vice  of  falsehood;  but  a  very  slight 
acquaintance  with  the  mind  of  the  child  is  sufficient  to  show 
that  the  majority  of  these  false  statements  of  children  are 
made  either  through  ignorance,  or  through  the  inability  to 
distinguish  between  what  has  been  vividly  imagined,  or  even 
dreamed,  and  what  has  been  actually  experienced;  or  at  all 
events  without  any  real  appreciation  of  the  serious  nature  of 
the  offence.  In  the  teens,  however,  these  palliatives  are  no 
longer  available,  and  the  guilt  of  trifling  with  the  truth  be- 
comes realized  in  full  for  the  first  time.  Yet  even  now,  at 
least  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  period,  the  imagination  is 
still  responsible  for  many  perversions  of  the  truth.  In  some 
extreme  cases  the  young  adolescent  shares  with  the  little 
child  the  inability  to  distinguish  between  what  has  really  oc- 
curred and  what  has  only  been  fancied. 

Another  point  to  be  noticed  is  that  many  of  the  lies  told 
by  youths  and  maidens  are  closely  connected  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  self,  and  grow  out  of  some  situation  that 
involves  the  interests  of  the  self.  Self-esteem  and  its  base 
counterfeit,  self-conceit,  the  instinct  of  self-defence,  and  the 
fault  of  selfishness,  the  desire  to  be  thought  well  of  by  others, 
and  the  desire  to  be  thought  superior  to  one's  companions  at 
school  and  elsewhere,  the  disposition  to  be  envious  of  others 
who  outstrip  us,  and  to  be  jealous  of  those  who  seem  likely 
to  eclipse  us  in  the  regard  of  others,  all  these  are  prolific 
sources  of  falsehood;  and  they  all  are  impossible  apart 
from  the  qualities  of  self-consciousness.  The  same  is  prob- 
ably true  of  the  so-called  heroic  lie,  in  which  one  person,  in 
order  to  shield  another,  will  falsely  assume  the  guilt  that 
belongs  to  that  other,  either  by  making  a  directly  false  con- 


170     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

fession,  or  by  remaining  silent  when  a  word  would  vindicate 
his  innocence.  This  very  peculiar  kind  of  falsehood-motive, 
it  will  be  observed,  becomes  possible  only  when  self-con- 
sciousness and  the  social  consciousness  are  somewhat  de- 
veloped; and  it  appears  to  be  the  result  of  a  tacit  assump- 
tion that  to  suffer  in  this  way  for  others  is  a  sign  of  true 
nobility  of  personal  character. 

This  leads  naturally  to  the  discussion  of  those  crimes  that 
affect  personality  in  a  still  more  intimate  and  vital  way.  In 
a  previous  chapter  we  have  tried  to  show  how  powerfully 
the  self-feeling  and  self-consciousness  are  accentuated  and 
come  into  prominence  with  the  advent  of  puberty.  The 
currents  of  the  psychic  life  seem  now  to  shoot  together  as 
never  before,  and  impart  to  the  mind  a  unity  of  outlook  and 
a  singleness  of  direction  that  stand  in  contrast  to  the  rela- 
tively ummified  and  uncentralized  mental  life  of  the  child. 
This  focussing  of  consciousness  is  conditioned  to  a  large 
extent  on  those  new  energies  and  tendencies  that  come  with 
puberty.  But  the  center  of  the  focussed  lines  is  not  a  self 
that  is  merely  individual  but  a  self  that  stands  in  the  closest 
relation  to  other  selves,  and  finds  its  own  life,  and  the  in- 
terests that  make  it  worth  while,  in  those  relationships. 
And  just  because  the  relationships  referred  to  are  so  noble 
and  pure  in  their  true  forms,  their  abuse  constitutes  perhaps 
the  basest  and  most  degrading  of  moral  delinquencies. 

While  crimes  against  property  rights  are  more  prevalent 
in  early  adolescence,  crimes  against  persons  are  more  com- 
mon in  the  later  years  of  the  period.  And  among  all  the 
temptations  that  beset  this  age,  perhaps  no  other  is  quite 
so  powerful  as  the  temptation  to  misuse  the  sex  relation- 
ship. Where  offences  of  this  sort  occur  in  childhood,  they 
are  usually  due,  I  think,  to  ignorance  of  what  is  involved, 
and  are  committed  in  the  entire  absence  of  any  genuine  sex- 
conceptions,  properly  speaking.  Their  prevention  demands 
watchfulness,  hygienic  treatment  of  the  body,  and  abundance 
of  natural  and  normal  exercise,  as  in  play,  together  with  a 
pure  and  exalted  social  environment,  in  which  respect  for 


THE  MORAL  LIFE  171 

personality,  whether  in  oneself  or  in  others,  is  steadily  in- 
culcated from  the  earliest  years. 

Offences  against  sexual  morality  committed  in  the  teens 
stand  upon  a  different  footing.  They  cannot  be  assumed  to 
be  done  in  the  same  thoughtless  innocence  as  in  childhood. 
By  this  time  most  boys  and  girls  have  acquired  some  know- 
ledge of  the  sex  relations  of  individuals,  and  of  the  sexual 
functions  of  the  organism.  There  has  also  developed  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  feeling  and  a  certain  vividness  of  imagery  in 
reference  to  the  persons  of  others.  It  is  exceedingly  fortu- 
nate, from  the  standpoint  of  social  morality,  that  modesty 
is  a  conspicuous  quality  of  youth,  and  that  this  quality  be- 
comes more  highly  developed  in  that  very  period  of  life 
when  it  is  most  needed,  to  balance  and  hold  in  check  the 
growing  passions  of  our  nature.  One  can  hardly  think 
without  a  shudder,  of  what  the  moral  life  of  human  beings 
would  be  like,  were  the  passions  and  appetites  of  adolescence, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  other  periods  of  life,  wholly  free  to 
exert  their  power  and  sway  the  conduct  of  individuals,  with- 
out any  such  counterpoise  as  is  provided  in  this  adolescent 
timidity. 

Among  those  crimes  that  are  committed  against  persons, 
suicide  may  be  included,  as  the  extreme  form  of  crime  against 
the  person  of  the  self.  This  crime  is  not  so  common  among 
the  young,  whose  life  as  a  rule  has  not  yet  been  embittered 
by  the  "  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune,"  as  among 
persons  of  mature  years;  and  yet  even  childhood  and  youth 
are  not  without  examples.  When  it  does  occur  among  young 
children,  it  seems  to  be  devoid  of  anything  approaching  an 
adequate  motive,  for  it  is  not  the  child  whose  life  is  really 
destitute  and  miserable  who  puts  an  end  to  it  by  his  own 
hand;  it  is  far  more  likely  to  occur  among  those  pampered 
and  spoiled  children  whose  every  wish  is  gratified,  and  who 
are  permitted  to  indulge  every  mood  and  caprice  to  the  full, 
and  to  give  free  rein  to  anger,  resentment,  and  all  such  feel- 
ings, upon  every  fancied  slight  or  wrong. 

When  the  act  of  self-destruction  is  committed  in  the  ado- 


172     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

lescent  period,  the  case  is  somewhat  different.  Here  the 
stress  and  strain  of  puberty  has  to  be  reckoned  with.  This 
is  a  new  burden,  from  which  childhood  is  happily  free.  It 
is  sometimes  a  very  serious  matter,  especially  in  girls,  as  we 
have  already  remarked.  And  it  appears  as  a  matter  of  fact 
that  suicide  in  the  teens  is  rather  more  common  among  girls 
than  among  boys.  The  force  of  emotions  previously  un- 
known, the  new  introspection,  self-analysis,  and  brooding, 
common  now,  sometimes  become  so  strong  as  to  throw  the 
whole  character  out  of  balance,  override  the  barriers  of 
self-control,  and  issue  in  the  most  ill-advised  and  foolish  acts. 
In  some  cases  this  disturbance  of  the  poise  of  life  is  so  ag- 
gravated as  to  amount  to  a  real  impairment  of  the  individ- 
ual's sanity. 

But  there  are  also  numerous  other  causes,  among  which 
possibly  the  most  common  is  a  manner  of  life  which  is 
morally  unhygienic;  too  early  an  acquaintance  with  the  lux- 
uries and  excitements  of  life,  which  leave  the  boy  or  the 
girl  nervously  overtired,  mentally  nauseated,  and  satiated 
before  the  time  with  the  mere  sensuosities  of  life.  Society, 
fine  clothes,  fashion  and  excitement,  are,  for  children  at 
least,  unnatural,  and  should  play  the  very  smallest  part  in 
their  lives. 

Another  cause  which  sometimes  leads  to  this  sad  result 
is  the  melancholy  to  which  adolescence  is  liable,  and  from 
which  childhood  is  almost  wholly  free.  This  melancholy 
may  be  religious  in  its  origin,  and  result  from  brooding  over 
the  concerns  of  one's  spiritual  life.  Or  it  may  be  due  to  that 
introspection  which  is  so  common  now,  and  in  which  all 
manner  of  strange  fancies  may  be  entertained  as  to  one's 
own  unworthiness,  impurity,  unfitness  for  the  society  of  the 
pure  and  good,  and  the  like.  It  may  be  the  effect  of  an  over- 
sensitiveness  regarding  one's  own  achievements,  and  one's 
standing  in  the  opinion  of  others.  Such  brooding  may  be- 
come a  habit  which,  long  indulged,  may  lead  to  despair,  and 
even  to  self-destruction. 

Taking  now,  a  broad  view  of  this  whole  matter  of  juvenile 


THE  MORAL  LIFE  173 

delinquency,  it  must  in  strict  justice  be  said  that  the  word 
"  crime  "  does  not  mean  quite  the  same  thing  when  we  use 
it  in  reference  to  the  conduct  of  an  immature  person,  as  in 
reference  to  the  conduct  of  an  adult.  In  the  adult,  crime 
is  more  likely  to  be  premeditated,  and  "  with  malice  afore- 
thought." The  so-called  "  crimes  "  of  children  are  usually 
quite  devoid  of  these  two  characteristics.  They  are  neither 
premeditated  nor  malicious.  They  are  done  through  im- 
pulse, through  imitation,  or  through  a  sudden  burst  of 
temper.  They  are  done  in  ignorance  of  their  real  nature 
and  effects,  and  are  no  proof  of  a  depraved  character.  In 
a  lesser  degree  this  may  be  said  also  of  the  crimes  of  youth. 
Many  of  them  are  the  outcome  of  suggestion,  imagination, 
the  tendency  to  imitate  (hence  the  moral  danger  of 
"  yellow  "  literature,  and  of  the  dramatic  representations 
of  criminal  acts),  the  impulse  to  vigorous  action,  and  the 
love  of  the  adventurous,  the  spectacular,  and  the  startling. 
Many  of  them  are  the  outcrop  of  failings  that  lean  to 
virtue's  side.  But  their  most  noticeable  feature  is  the  ab- 
sence of  any  really  sinister  motive.  This  is  why  so  many 
of  them  are  unaccountable  from  the  standpoint  of  adult 
reasoning.  If  a  boy  steals  money,  it  is  not  to  hoard  it, 
nor  even  to  spend  it  on  himself;  if  he  destroys  property,  it 
is  not  through  malice,  but  through  the  love  of  a  prank  or 
pastime. 

Two  cases  well  known  to  the  writer  serve  to  illustrate 
this.  A  boy  stole  a  sum  of  money  from  his  father's  desk, 
but  proceeded  at  once  to  get  rid  of  it  as  rapidly  as  possible 
by  the  most  Livish  expenditure  on  sweetmeats,  which  he 
distributed  from  day  to  day  with  profuse  generosity  among 
his  schoolmates.  There  was  apparent  neither  any  desire 
to  hoard  his  treasure  nor  to  spend  it  in  selfish  indulgence. 
In  fact,  it  was  very  difficult  to  guess  at  his  motive.  Possi- 
bly he  was  not  very  clear  in  his  own  mind  as  to  the  reason 
of  his  act.  It  may  be  remarked  by  the  way  that  children 
often  seem  totally  unable,  even  under  the  most  skilful  ques- 
tioning, to  give  any  intelligible  explanation  of  their  conduct. 


i74     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

This  would  indicate  that  the  reasons  are  not  clear  in  their 
own  minds,  which  is  exactly  what  one  would  expect,  in  view 
of  the  impulsive  nature  of  much  of  their  conduct.  In  the 
case  of  the  boy  referred  to  above,  who,  so  far  as  was  known, 
had  not  committed  any  other  act  of  like  kind,  in  all  prob- 
ability the  theft  was  committed  in  the  first  place  on  some 
such  sudden,  irrational  impulse,  and  the  subsequent  lavish 
generosity  was  the  expression  of  a  very  natural  desire  to  do 
something  striking,  and  to  attract  attention,  and  gain  popu- 
larity and  power  among  his  comrades.  Such  motives  as 
these,  not  reasoned  out,  but  potent  nevertheless  beneath  the 
surface,  are  common  with  boys  of  this  age.  At  all  events 
the  case  did  not  appear  to  be  one  showing  essential  depravity, 
or  any  real  perversity  of  motive. 

The  second  case  was  one  of  the  most  pathetic  that  ever 
came  under  my  observation.  A  girl  of  fourteen,  finding  a 
baby  carriage  standing  outside  a  departmental  store  in  a 
large  Canadian  city,  approached  to  peep  at  its  occupant,  a 
beautiful  boy,  nine  or  ten  months  old,  whose  mother  had 
left  him  asleep  in  the  carriage  while  she  did  her  shopping 
inside.  The  girl,  seized  by  a  sudden  impulse  which  perhaps 
she  herself  could  not  have  explained,  wheeled  the  carriage 
away,  with  its  sleeping  occupant,  passing  along  street  after 
street  in  the  direction  of  her  own  home,  two  or  three  miles 
away.  When  a  little  more  than  half  way  home  she  turned 
on  to  the  railway  track  and  proceeded  to  push  the  carriage 
along  between  the  rails.  Overtaken  by  a  train  while  on  a 
high  embankment,  she  turned  at  a  right  angle  and  either 
wheeled  the  carriage  down  the  steep  bank,  or  let  it  run  down 
of  itself.  Which  of  these  she  did  will  probably  never  be 
known,  as  there  were  no  witnesses,  and  no  straight  story 
could  be  got  from  the  girl  herself  in  the  cross-examination. 
At  all  events  the  baby  was  found,  lying  dead  in  a  culvert  at 
the  foot  of  the  embankment,  and  the  overturned  carriage 
nearby. 

The  case  produced  a  tremendous  sensation,  and  every 
effort  was  made  to  discover  what  possible  motive  the  girl 


THE  MORAL  LIFE  175 

could  have  had  for  such  an  extraordinary  act,  but  entirely 
without  success.  Theories  were  rife  in  explanation  of  the 
affair,  but  no  theory  cleared  up  the  mystery.  The  girl 
showed  no  abnormal  symptoms,  nor  could  any  neurosis  be 
discovered.  The  only  explanation  that  approached  plausi- 
bility was  given  by  a  psychologist,  who  suggested  that  in  the 
first  instance,  the  mother  instinct,  beginning  to  develop  some 
degree  of  strength  in  the  girl,  took  sudden  shape  at  the 
sight  of  the  baby  face,  and  discharged  itself  along  motor 
lines  in  the  act  of  taking  possession.  Probably  there  was 
no  definite  purpose  in  her  mind,  and  almost  certainly  no 
conception  of  the  enormity  of  her  act,  and  the  anxiety  and 
sorrow  she  was  causing.  While  on  the  way  it  is  quite  pos- 
sible that  these  things  began  to  dawn  upon  her,  and  then 
fear  took  possession  of  her,  increasing  to  a  veritable  panic 
as  she  realized  her  position  more  clearly.  Finding  herself 
on  the  railway  embankment,  with  a  train  approaching,  she 
lost  what  little  self-control  and  presence  of  mind  was  left, 
with  the  tragic  results  already  described. 

I  have  dwelt  upon  these  two  cases  because  I  believe  that 
neither  children  nor  adolescents  are  essentially  criminal 
under  normal  conditions,  though  both  children  and  ado- 
lescents, especially  the  latter,  do  as  a  matter  of  fact,  commit 
many  deeds  that  are  criminal  in  their  external  character. 
But  the  motives  essential  to  criminality,  such  as  deep  vin- 
dictiveness,  hate,  revenge,  greed,  lust,  are  not  yet  extant  in 
the  life  at  these  ages.  This  is  being  now  fairly  well  rec- 
ognized, and  special  provision  is  made,  in  most  progressive 
communities,  for  dealing  in 'separate  courts  and  by  alto- 
gether distinct  methods  with  the  crimes  of  childhood  and 
early  youth.  The  Commissioner  of  the  children's  court  is 
not  primarily  a  judge,  but  a  counsellor,  guide,  philosopher 
and  friend  of  the  erring  youngster.  He  aims  not  at  all  at 
retribution,  but  at  reformation,  inspiration,  and  encourage- 
ment to  do  better.  He  avoids  making  any  accusation,  or 
even  suggestion  of  criminality,  and  seeks  to  awaken  the 
desire  and  ambition  after  a  respectable  and  worthy  career. 


176     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

It  is  a  further  question  whether  the  same  methods  might 
not  be  more  largely  used  also  in  the  case  of  the  majority 
of  adult  criminals ;  but  the  discussion  of  this  inviting  theme 
lies  beyond  the  scope  of  the  present  undertaking. 

Turning  for  a  moment  from  the  consideration  of  crime 
and  punishment,  as  viewed  from  the  standpoint  of  society, 
against  whom  the  offence  is  committed,  let  us  look  at  them 
from  the  standpoint  of  the  offender.  There  are  several 
interesting  questions  here,  such  as  the  conception  of  demerit, 
the  willingness  or  unwillingness  to  make  confession  and 
restitution  so  far  as  possible,  and  the  ideas  entertained  about 
punishment,  and  its  function  or  place  in  the  life. 

And  first  of  all,  it  is  a  pleasure  to  be  able  to  say  that  one 
does  not  find  self-righteousness  or  inordinate  moral  self- 
complacency  a  conspicuous  feature  in  childhood  or  youth  as 
a  general  thing.  It  is  quite  true  that  self-conceit,  in  one 
form  or  another,  is  common  enough  in  adolescence,  but  the 
subject  is  much  more  likely  to  make  a  display  of  his  physi- 
cal powers  or  of  his  intellectual  cleverness  than  of  any  virtues 
he  may  possess.  I  say  it  is  a  pleasure  to  be  able  to  say  this, 
for  the  peculiarity  of  the  virtues  seems  to  be  that  he  who 
makes  a  boast  of  their  possession  is  giving  the  best  possible 
proof  that  he  does  not  possess  them.  And  so  there  are 
few  things  more  attractive  about  childhood  and  youth  than 
their  unreadiness  to  make  large  claims  in  this  direction. 
Where  this  reticence  is  most  marked,  it  shows  most  clearly 
that  the  moral  ideal  entertained  in  the  mind  is  high;  for  the 
higher  the  ideal  the  less  confidence  is  there  in  one's  fitness 
to  claim  its  realization. 

So  also  young  people  are  as  a  rule  fairly  frank  in  con- 
fessing their  faults,  though,  of  course,  there  are  many  cases 
of  stubborn  refusal  to  admit  the  wrong,  and  many  also  of 
clever  deception  and  concealment  of  the  guilt.  Multitudes 
of  falsehoods  are  told  in  order  to  escape  punishment,  some- 
times through  fear,  sometimes  through  the  feeling  of  shame. 
But  it  is  my  conviction  that  this  is  due  as  frequently  to  un- 
wise handling  of  the  child  by  the  parent  or  teacher  as  to  any 


THE  MORAL  LIFE  "177 

inherent  contumacy  on  the  part  of  the  youthful  offender. 
It  is  exceedingly  rare  that  a  boy  or  girl  who  has  been  ac- 
customed to  that  treatment  that  inspires  confidence,  shows 
sympathy,  and  understanding  of  the  trials  and  temptations 
of  youth,  and  provides  guarantees  of  fair  play  and  complete 
justice,  will  refuse  to  be  equally  frank  and  honest  in  the 
matter  of  admitting  his  own  shortcomings.  Indeed,  cases 
are  not  by  any  means  wanting,  where  young  men  and  maid- 
ens have  shown  a  strong  desire  to  make  known  their  faults 
and  follies,  their  temptations  and  failures  to  resist,  to  some 
older  person  who  would  really  sympathize  and  give  counsel 
and  help.  It  seemed  as  though  this  confidence  and  counsel 
added  to  the  strength  of  the  younger  person  that  of  the 
older,  so  that,  for  the  burden  of  one  there  was  the  strength 
of  two. 

Another  outstanding  feature  in  the  character  of  most 
children  and  young  people  is  their  readiness  to  admit  the 
need  and  the  justice  of  punishment,  not  merely  for  others,  ; 
which  would  be  comparatively  easy,  but  for  themselves, 
which  is  not  so  easy.  They  deeply  resent  punishments  which 
they  regard  as  undeserved,  and,  therefore,  unjustly  inflicted; 
but  where  the  guilt  is  real,  they  are  ready  to  say  that  pun- 
ishment ought  to  be  inflicted,  and  even  to  maintain  that  its 
effect  upon  them  is  salutary.  They  do  not  even  plead  for 
light  punishment,  but  recognize  that  the  penalty  should  fit 
the  crime,  even  though  it  might  be  hard  to  bear.  More- 
over, the  normal  adolescent,  both  boy  and  girl,  seems  to 
have  reached  that  point  in  the  understanding  of  the  real 
nature  of  virtue,  where  the  incongruity  of  holding  out  in- 
ducements to  moral  goodness  is  recognized.  Young  chil- 
dren are  scarcely  able  to  discriminate  between  what  is  in- 
trinsic and  what  is  extrinsic  in  the  matter  of  goodness,  and 
to  them  it  is  hardly  an  anachronism  that  rewards  should  be 
given  for  "  being  good  " ;  but  in  youth  this  conception  of 
goodness  is  transcended,  and  virtue,  purged  of  its  mercenary 
associations,  becomes  its  own  reward. 

If  we  turn  from  the  faults  and  crimes  of  youth  to  the 


178     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

much  more  pleasant  subject  of  its  virtues  and  merits,  we 
shall  see,  first  of  all,  I  believe,  standing  out  in  clear  relief 
that  most  characteristic  feature  of  this  period  of  life,  to 
which  we  might  give  the  general  name  of  aspiration.  (The 
minds  of  youths  and  maidens  are  full  of  yearnings,  to  do 
great  things,  to  achieve  fame,  to  wield  influence,  to  benefit 
others,  to  advance  science,  or  art,  or  music,  or  morals,  or 
religion.  Or  perhaps  the  yearning  has  no  object  that  can  be 
clearly  defined,  but  the  whole  being  seems  fairly  lifted  up 
and  inspired  with  the  enthusiasm  of  life,  and  the  desire  after 
some  greatest,  noblest,  and  best,  but  as  yet  undefined  ency 

Here,  as  elsewhere,  the  youth  stands  in  a  most  interesting 
place,  between  childhood  and  maturity.  In  childhood  he 
fancied  many  things,  and  made  many  plans,  of  what  he 
would  do  and  be  later  on;  but  he  probably  never  integrated 
all  his  fancies  and  plans  into  a  single  whole  or  life  purpose, 
to  which  all  special  and  particular  undertakings  should  be 
subservient,  and  upon  which  they  should  all  be  focussed. 
In  mature  life,  on  the  other  hand,  his  life  purpose  has  prob- 
ably either  been  definitely  chosen,  or  he  has  submitted  to 
the  constraint  of  circumstances,  and  settled  down  to  that 
course  of  action  which  was  fixed  for  him  by  the  accidents  of 
his  position  and  his  ascertained  capabilities.  But  in  the 
stage  between  these  two,  he  has  become  capable  of  some- 
thing like  a  comprehensive  conception  of  a  life  purpose, 
but  has  not  yet  been  able  to  put  this  purpose  to  the  test  of 
experience,  as  to  its  practicability.  And  so  there  is  room 
for  the  range  of  imagination,  which  explores  unchecked  all 
the  untried  fields,  and  for  the  full  play  of  feeling  and  ardor, 
v/hich  carr\5  the  mind  past  all  difficulties  as  though  they 
were  not.  /AM  is  quite  true  that  the  native  diffidence  of  most 
young  peoples  and  the  fear  of  being  ridiculed,  prevents  them 
from  revealing  to  others  the  full  wealth  of  their  feelings  or 
the  splendor  of  their  dreams.  But  if  you  once  gain  their 
confidencejQp  that  they  feel  certain  of  your  sympathy  and 
know  that  you  will  respect  that  confidence,  then  you  may 
be  privileged  with  a  view  of  the  visions  splendid  by  which 


THE  MORAL  LIFE  179 

their  inner  lives  are  charmed  and  nourished.  It  matters 
but  little,  for  our  present  purpose,  whether  these  youthful 
longings  ever  find  full  satisfaction.  The  important  thing 
is  that  they  are  cherished  and  dreamed  over  with  eager  de- 
sire, and  that  they  are  a  source  of  inspiration  to  the  youth- 
ful spirit.  Herein  lies  their  ethical  worth  and  their  educa- 
tional significance. 

Illustrations  might  be  multiplied  indefinitely  to  prove  the 
reality  of  altruism  in  the  heart  of  the  adolescent.  It  is  at 
this  time  of  life  that  boys  and  girls  begin  to  think  with 
downright  seriousness  of  their  future  vocation;  and  these 
thoughts  and  plans  almost  always  include  much  more  than 
their  own  personal  advantage  or  gratification.  Conversa- 
tion with  these  young  persons  on  this  subject,  (to  say  noth- 
ing of  other  subjects)  and  the  perusal  of  letters  and  essays 
written  by  them,  leaves  on  the  mind  a  deep  and  agreeable 
impression  of  their  genuinely  altruistic  nature.  They  long 
to  do  good  as  well  as  to  get  good,  to  minister  to  others  as 
well  as  to  be  ministered  unto  by  others.  No  doubt  youth 
is  also  egoistic,  and  so  it  should  be.  Healthy  moral  devel- 
opment requires,  not  the  extinction  of  either  of  these  qual- 
ities, but  their  due  and  proper  balance,  the  one  with  the 
other;  so  that  the  ideal  of  the  moral  life,  as  it  was  expressed 
by  Kant,  may  be  realized:  "Treat  humanity,  whether  in 
thine  own  person,  or  in  that  of  any  other,  always  as  an  end, 
never  as  a  means." 

If  we  consider  the  virtues  of  youth,  then,  over  against 
its  vices  and  follies,  we  shall  find  the  same  exuberance,  the 
same  fitfulness,  and  the  same  relative  lack  of  control,  in  this 
case,  as  we  found  in  that.  The  various  impulses  and  in- 
stincts are  not  very  well  co-ordinated;  and  therefore,  instead 
of  holding  them  in  their  proper  relation  to  one  another 
with  a  steady  hand,  the  adolescent  is  apt  to  give  one  of  them 
full  swing  for  a  time,  and  then  another.  The  equilibrium 
is  unstable.  The  psychic  forces  are  developing  too  rapidly 
to  be  kept  completely  in  hand.  As  the  vices  of  youth  are  not 
underlaid  by  motives  essentially  sinister,  nor  its  crimes  by 


1 80     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

deep-seated  malice  and  hate;  so  the  virtues  of  youth  can 
hardly  be  described  as  the  embodiment  of  moral  principles 
thoroughly  reasoned  out  and  permanently  rooted  in  the  inner 
life.  But  stability  of  character  is  in  the  making,  and  ra- 
tional insight,  and  mastery  of  motive,  are  on  the  way. 

Those  virtues  most  closely  connected  with  the  self  receive 
a  powerful  stimulus  in  the  new  self-feelings  that  arise  with 
puberty;  but  these  feelings  may  also  issue  in  selfishness,  self- 
conceit,  and  arrogance.  Under  good  conditions,  however, 
they  blossom  out  into  genuine  self-respect,  personal  honor, 
and  a  fine  abhorrence  of  everything  that  would  tarnish 
personal  reputation  or  weaken  personal  character.  Those 
virtues  that  more  directly  affect  others,  such  as  courtesy, 
truthfulness,  honesty,  loyalty,  fidelity  to  promises,  benevo- 
lence, sympathy,  and  purity,  may  show  similar  phases  of 
irregular  development.  Young  men  and  maidens  sometimes 
betray  a  degree  of  incivility,  and  disregard  for  the  feelings 
of  others,  that  is  startling.  Under  stress  of  sudden  temp- 
tation there  may  be  an  indulgence  of  unworthy  impulses  that 
is  very  disappointing;  and  yet  the  general  trend  of  the  whole 
disposition  may  be  distinctly  good.  Poise  and  balance  of 
the  character  may  be  fully  achieved  later  on.  It  seems  to 
me  that  youth,  in  spite  of  much  evidence  that  might  appear 
to  belie  the  statement,  takes  no  special  delight  in  trying 
to  subvert  the  moral  order  as  such.  Indeed  it  is  its  innate 
respect  for  that  order  which  constitutes  the  foundation  upon 
which  moral  education  may  build. 

Among  the  external  factors  that  make  for  the  building 
of  character  at  this  period,  none  is  more  potent  than  the 
personality  of  those  who  form  the  social  environment  of 
the  individual.  This,  of  course,  is  true  at  every  age;  and 
one  hesitates  to  say  that  it  is  more  true  at  any  one  age 
than  at  any  other,  at  least  previous  to  maturity;  but  in  the 
period  of  adolescence  it  is  reinforced  by  the  specially  vigor- 
ous social  instincts,  and  is  broadened  and  deepened  in  its 
influence  through  the  increased  power  of  the  mind  to  grasp 
the  wider  concepts.  While  children  are  influenced  most 


THE  MORAL  LIFE  181 

by  particular  acts,  and  by  the  general  "  atmosphere  "  of 
their  social  surroundings,  and  boys  and  girls  by  individuals 
for  whom  they  have  conceived  a  high  regard,  in  the  days  of 
youth  there  is  acquired  the  capacity  to  appreciate  the  claims 
of  the  social  order,  as  well  as  to  be  drawn  towards  other 
persons  because  of  their  moral  worth.  In  other  words, 
youth  is  more  discriminating  than  childhood  in  regard  to 
the  worthiness  of  persons  to  influence  its  life;  and  at  the 
same  time  capable  of  receiving  from  those  persons,  when 
once  they  have  been  permitted  to  exert  that  influence,  more 
profound  and  permanent  impressions.  And  yet  it  is  still 
true,  even  in  the  teens,  that  the  most  potent  influence  comes, 
not  from  abstract  conceptions,  but  from  living  personal  em- 
bodiments of  the  moral  qualities.  Hence  the  disposition  to 
idolize  certain  individuals,  and  to  allow  them  to  influence  us 
more  strongly  than  others,  a  disposition  deeply  rooted  in 
us  all,  passes  now  through  one  of  its  most  interesting  phases. 
Few  persons  traverse  this  period  of  their  lives  without  set- 
ting up  some  hero,  to  whom  they  render  a  species  of  con- 
scious or  unconscious  worship. 

Hero  worship  that  is  discriminating  and  reasonable  may 
be  a  very  beneficent  thing  in  shaping  the  character  of  the 
worshipper.  For  the  moral  effect  of  it  is  to  predispose 
the  youthful  admirer  to  walk  in  the  way  of  the  person  whom 
he  admires.  But  clearly,  as  I  have  said,  in  order  to  be 
good  in  its  results,  it  must  be  discriminating  and  reasonable; 
the  former,  to  ensure  that  what  is  unworthy  in  personality 
shall  not  be  permitted  to  impress  character;  the  latter,  in 
order  that  the  attitude  may  not  continue  indefinitely  as  one 
of  mere  blind  admiration  and  allegiance,  but  shall  develop 
into  intelligent  loyalty  to  principles  for  their  own  intrinsic 
worth. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   RELIGIOUS   LIFE 

Many  and  various  are  the  definitions  that  have  been 
given  of  religion,  in  the  course  of  its  history;  so  many, 
indeed,  and  so  various,  as  to  arouse  in  some  minds  a  sus- 
picion as  to  the  possibility  of  giving  to  it  any  satisfactory 
definition  at  all.  The  phenomena  that  seem  entitled  to  the 
name  "  religious  "  are  so  diversified  in  their  character,  and 
so  intertwined  with  other  phenomena  in  their  manifestations, 
that  it  is  difficult  to  set  them  apart  by  themselves  or  reduce 
them  to  any  simple  and  single  category. 

In  spite,  however,  of  the  difficulty  of  defining  religion, 
the  reality  of  the  religious  consciousness  is  beyond  all  ques- 
tion. No  arguments  are  needed  to  prove  it  a  genuine  en- 
dowment of  man.  History,  which  is  the  record  of  his 
doings;  psychology,  which  is  the  scientific  analysis  of  his  na- 
ture; literature,  in  prose  and  verse,  in  which  he  has  given 
expression  to  his  inner  thoughts  and  feelings,  aspirations 
and  beliefs;  and  philosophy,  in  which  he  has  tried  to  explain 
the  ultimate  significance  of  all  reality  and  all  experience, 
including  his  own;  all  these  bear  unanimous  testimony  to 
the  reality  of  the  religious  faculty  in  man,  and  justify  Mr. 
Herbert  Spencer's  contention  that  it  is  "  as  normal  as  any 
other  faculty."  1  Even  if  it  could  be  proven  that  the  object 
of  man's  religious  devotion  bears  little  resemblance  to  the 
concepts  that  men  have  formed,  and  that  it  corresponds 
only  in  the  remotest  way  to  the  descriptions  and  definitions 
which  men  have  framed,  it  would  still  be  necessary  to  explain 
this  devotion,  and  to  account  for  these  concepts  and  defini- 
tions. 

The  purpose  of  this  chapter  is  not  to  argue  theological 
questions,  or  to  prove  theological  propositions,  but  to  de- 

i  Spencer,  First  Principles,  Ch.  I.  par.  IV. 

182 


THE  RELIGIOUS  LIFE  183 

scribe  some  of  the  more  important  phenomena  of  the  re- 
ligious life,  with  special  reference  to  the  period  of  adoles- 
cence; and  this  in  the  hope  that  the  facts  themselves  may  be 
suggestive  of  the  most  effective  methods  by  which  the  re- 
ligious education  of  the  adolescent  may  be  carried  on. 

On  one  point  all  are  agreed,  namely,  that  religion,  what- 
ever it  may  involve  in  its  details,  has  to  do  in  its  inmost 
essence  with  the  relation  between  man  and  his  Maker,  or, 
more  exactly,  with  man's  attitude  towards  whatever  he  be- 
lieves to  be  the  supreme  reality  in  the  universe.  This  state- 
ment is  not  intended  to  settle  any  question  as  to  the  nature 
of  that  supreme  reality,  or  even  to  define  man's  relation 
thereto,  but  merely  to  point  out  the  one  essential  thing  that 
must  be  found  in  all  religion,  the  irreducible  minimum  of 
the  religious  consciousness. 

Proceeding  now  from  these  initial  postulates,  that  re- 
ligion involves  man's  attitude  towards  the  Supreme  Being, 
and  that  it  is  characteristic  of  man,  all  the  world  over  and 
in  all  ages,  to  take  up  some  positive  attitude  towards  that 
Being,  we  may  further  remark  that  our  main  concern  at 
present  is  not  even  with  creeds  or  systems  of  religious  be- 
lief, except  in  so  far  as  they  form  part  of  the  actual  con- 
tent of  the  religious  consciousness  in  the  period  under  re- 
view. The  truth  or  the  falsity  of  any  given  article  of 
faith  is  not  under  discussion,  but  it  may  be  necessary  to 
point  out  the  effect  on  the  entire  religious  development,  of 
the  acceptance  of  a  given  proposition  as  part  and  parcel 
of  one's  intellectual  equipment. 

In  other  words,  since  the  two  terms  in  the  religious  re- 
lationship are  God  and  Man,  or  the  divine  and  the  human, 
the  whole  subject  may  be  viewed  either  from  the  transcen- 
dental or  from  the  empirical  side,  either  from  the  stand- 
point of  its  ultimate  divine  source,  or  simply  as  a  system  of 
ideas,  feelings,  beliefs,  and  actions,  taking  place,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  in  the  experience  of  the  individual,  and,  therefore, 
as  open  to  observation  as  any  other  phenomena  of  the 
psychic  life. 


1 84     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

The  first  of  these  two  standpoints  is  that  of  the  philoso- 
phy of  religion,  or  speculative  theology.  The  second,  to 
which  we  confine  ourselves,  is  the  psychology  of  religion. 
From  this  point  of  view  no  controversial  questions  need 
arise,  provided  the  facts  are  correctly  observed  and  their 
interpretation  logically  warranted.  The  enquiry  is  con- 
cerned almost  wholly  with  matters  of  fact.  The  interest 
is  in  actual  religious  experience;  and  the  investigation 
gathers  about  such  questions  as  these:  What  exactly  is  it 
that  happens  as  a  matter  of  fact  among  the  phenomena  of 
the  psychic  life  when  religious  experience  takes  place?  In 
what  way  are  the  thoughts,  feelings  and  actions  affected  by, 
and  concerned  in,  religious  experience?  In  what  way,  and 
by  what  observable  causes,  does  religion  arise  and  develop 
in  the  lives  of  youths  and  maidens,  and  what  are  the  salient 
features  of  that  development? 

Again,  these  states  and  processes  that  make  up  the  re- 
ligious life  should  not  be  looked  upon  as  a  separate  and 
unique  sort  of  phenomena,  standing  apart  in  a  class  by 
themselves,  and  differing  in  kind,  as  mental  processes,  from 
the  other  phenomena  of  the  psychic  life.  The  familiar 
classification  of  mental  states  into  thoughts,  feelings,  and 
volitions,  is  exhaustive.  There  is  nothing  outside  of  it,  or 
beyond  it.  What  we  said  of  morality  we  now  say  of  re- 
ligion. The  analysis  of  the  psychic  life  gives  us,  not 
thought,  feeling,  will,  and  religion,  but  simply  thought, 
feeling  and  will.  A  man's  religion,  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  matter 
open  to  observation,  consists  wholly  and  solely  in  the  char- 
acter of  his  thoughts,  feelings,  and  volitions,  considered  in 
relation  to  the  things  that  are  recognized  as  making  up  the 
content,  or  object  matter,  of  religion. 

Again,  religion  manifests  itself,  not  in  any  one  of  these 
to  the  exclusion  of  the  others.  Religion  is  not  a  matter 
of  the  intellect  by  itself,  nor  of  the  emotions  alone,  nor  of 
the  will  alone.  It  belongs  to  all  of  these,  for  the  very  good 
reason,  among  others,  that  these  belong  together  so  em- 
phatically and  so  vitally  that  the  one  never  occurs  without 


THE  RELIGIOUS  LIFE  185 

the  others.  There  may  be  great  variations  in  the  relative 
prominence  of  these  several  factors  in  any  total  mental 
state,  but  no  state  is  purely  cognitive,  or  purely  emotional, 
or  purely  volitional.  Religious  experience,  therefore,  like 
all  other  experience,  involves  the  intellect,  the  emotions,  and 
the  will.  Let  thought,  feeling,  and  will  be  exercised  in  the 
highest  way,  about  the  highest  objects,  and  you  have  re- 
ligion. Let  a  man  think  truly  and  clearly,  with  a  strong 
appreciation  of  relative  values;  let  him  hold  steadily  before 
his  mind  the  ends  that  are  worthiest;  let  him  pursue  those 
ends  with  unflagging  zeal  and  unwearied  patience;  and  let 
him  feel  warmly  and  cordially  towards  those  ends,  and 
especially  towards  those  persons  (God  and  his  fellow-men) 
who  are  involved  in  the  conception  of  the  ends;  and  you 
have  a  highly  religious  man.  In  briefer  terms,  religion 
means  the  knowledge,  love,  and  service,  of  God,  with  all 
that  is  involved  in  that,  and  all  that  follows  directly  from 
it. 

Hence  the  psychology  of  religion  does  not  differ  from 
psychology  in  general  as  regards  the  character  of  the  men- 
tal processes  which  are  under  investigation.  These  are  the 
same  in  both  cases.  The  psychology  of  religion  is  special 
and  peculiar  only  in  the  sense  that  it  directs  its  view  to  the 
great  concept  of  God,  as  the  supreme  object  of  knowledge, 
love,  and  service,  and  to  the  manner  in  which  all  other  ideas, 
feelings  and  actions  are  adjusted  and  correlated,  in  view  of 
the  supreme  worth  of  this  object.  It  is  also  the  study  of 
the  development  of  this  idea  in  the  mind  of  the  child,  and 
of  the  manner  in  which  other  interests  are  adjusted  to  this 
interest  and  other  affections  brought  into  harmony  with 
this  affection.  In  other  words,  if  the  entire  life  be  viewed 
from  that  standpoint  which  is  the  highest  of  all,  and  the 
life's  whole  expression  ordered  in  harmony  with  that,  the 
religious  life  is  the  result.  Religion  is  neither  apart  from 
life,  nor  a  part  of  life,  but  life,  at  its  highest  and  best. 

Here,  as  elsewhere,  we  best  get  our  point  of  departure 
by  glancing  at  the  religion  of  childhood.  For  there  is  a 


1 86     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

religion  of  childhood,  as  well  as  a  religion  of  youth,  and  a 
religion  of  manhood.  The  fact  that  peculiarly  favorable 
conditions  obtain  in  adolescence  for  the  inculcation  of  re- 
ligious belief  and  for  the  cultivation  of  the  spiritual  life 
must  not  be  allowed  to  obscure  from  us  the  religious  sus- 
ceptibilities and  possibilities  of  childhood.  The  truth  seems 
to  be  that  man  is  by  nature  a  religious  being;  and  that  he 
does  not  become  capable  of  religion  at  this,  that,  or  the 
other  age;  he  is  always  capable  of  it.  But  he  is  not  always 
capable  of  it  in  exactly  the  same  sense,  nor  does  religion 
connote  at  every  age  exactly  the  same  kind  of  ideas  and  feel- 
ings. There  is  such  a  thing  as  the  religion  of  an  immature 
mind,  and  there  is  such  a  thing  as  the  religion  of  a  mature 
mind;  and  each  of  these  has  about  it  some  distinctive 
features.  When  we  say  that  the  child  is  capable  of  religious 
experience,  we  must  not  be  understood  as  saying  that  his 
religious  experience  is  the  same,  in  form  and  content,  as  the 
religious  experience  of  the  adult,  or  even  of  the  youth. 
Truth,  no  doubt,  is  eternal  and  unalterable,  and  the  way 
of  the  Divine  Spirit  in  the  soul  of  man  is  in  its  most  essen- 
tial features  everywhere  the  same;  but  nevertheless  that 
truth  must  come  to  each  age  in  the  form  in  which  it  can 
be  assimilated,  and  religious  experience  must  take  place 
within  the  area  of  the  conceptions  and  volitions  that  are 
possible  at  that  particular  age. 

What  I  want  to  insist  upon  is,  that  religion  is  a  matter 
of  thinking  and  feeling  and  acting;  and,  therefore,  religion 
of  some  sort  and  degree  is  possible  to  every  being  capable 
of  thinking,  feeling,  and  acting,  and  capable  of  any  ideas, 
even  though  they  be  ever  so  rudimentary,  about  God  and 
His  relation  to  men.  Now  even  the  little  child  has  some 
intellectual  power,  and  exercises  some  measure  of  direction 
over  his  feelings  and  behavior.  In  so  far  as  these  are  con- 
sciously directed  and  adjusted  in  reference  to  God,  the  life 
is  genuinely  religious.  That  this  is  possible  in  the  little  child 
every  religious  teacher  knows. 

If  this  much  is  granted,  then  we  may  go  on  to  point  out 


THE  RELIGIOUS  LIFE  187 

how  the  character  of  the  child's  religion  is  determined  by 
the  nature  of  his  mental  life  and  the  conditions  of  his  men- 
tal progress.  For  clearly  these  things  have  an  important 
effect  on  his  religious  ideas  and  feelings;  and  the  difference 
between  the  religion  of  a  child  and  the  religion  of  an  ado- 
lescent arises  out  of  these  differences  in  the  general  mental 
powers  and  experiences  in  the  two  cases. 

Now  the  mind  of  the  child  has  its  own  distinctive  pecu- 
liarities and  its  own  limitations.  Notably,  the  horizons  of 
the  child  are  necessarily  restricted.  His  acquaintance  with 
the  world,  whether  the  physical  or  the  social  order,  has 
been  brief  in  duration  and  circumscribed  in  area.  He  is 
hardly  able  to  make  large  mental  syntheses,  in  which  many 
things  are  brought  under  the  unity  of  a  single  comprehen- 
sive concept.  His  mind  rests  in  the  unities  of  single  things, 
being  unable  to  achieve  the  correlation  that  results  in  the 
one-in-the-many . 

Again,  as  everyone  knows,  he  is  greatly  absorbed  in  the 
material  objects  about  him,  which  fall  under  the  cognizance 
of  his  senses.  The  more  penetrating  analyses,  that  look 
beyond  the  objects  of  sense  to  the  unseen,  are  not  yet  possi- 
ble in  any  large  degree.  It  is  not,  therefore,  to  be  expected 
that  the  reality  of  the  unseen,  untouched,  untasted,  in  a 
word,  un-sensed,  can  be  fully  comprehended  by  him,  though 
he  may  speak  of  it  and  that  not  without  understanding. 
But  to  him  the  unseen  means  that  which  is  not  seen  but  could 
be  if  one  only  had  keener  vision,  or  knew  where-  to  look. 
God  and  the  things  of  God  are  understood  to  be  beyond 
the  reach  of  vision  in  much  the  same  sense  as  that  which  is 
on  the  farther  side  of  a  range  of  mountains  is  beyond  the 
reach  of  vision.  No  difficulty  is  experienced,  however, 
when  he  is  told  that  God  can  see  him,  though  he  cannot  see 
God ;  and  that  God  is  very  near  to  him  all  the  while.  Either 
he  does  not  raise  the  question  how  God  can  be  near  him 
and  yet  not  be  seen;  or,  if  the  question  is  raised,  he  is  very 
easily  satisfied  with  the  answer  he  gets.  It  may  be  glaringly 
illogical,  or  obviously  inadequate,  to  the  adult  mind,  but  to 


the  child  mind  it  is  quite  satisfactory  for  the  time  being. 

The  responses  of  the  little  child  to  the  influences  of  his 
environment  are  in  general  on  the  sensori-motor  reflex  level, 
and  his  religious  responses  are  no  exception  to  this  rule. 
Impressions  are  not  carried  up  to  the  higher  levels  of  inter- 
pretation and  adjustment.  Impression  passes  over  easily 
and  smoothly  into  expression,  by  the  lines  of  least  resistance, 
and  along  those  pathways  that  have  been  worn  smoothest 
through  repeated  responses.  Habit,  therefore,  as  soon  as  it 
has  had  time  to  form,  plays  a  very  large  part  here,  as  else- 
where in  the  child's  life.  By  easy  associations  and  analogies 
he  comes  to  think  of  the  Unseen  Father  in  much  the  same 
way  as  he  thinks  of  the  earthly  parents  who  can  be  seen; 
to  feel  towards  Him  as  he  feels  towards  them;  and  to  be 
desirous  of  pleasing  Him  by  doing  His  will  as  he  is  desir- 
ous of  pleasing  them  by  doing  their  bidding.  This  is  gen- 
uine religion,  but  it  is  religion  within  the  limits  of  the  child's 
mental  powers,  and  circumscribed  by  the  boundaries  of  his 
mental  horizon.  His  inability  to  comprehend  the  invisible 
and  eternal,  or  to  appreciate  the  problems  that  occupy  the 
adult  mind,  no  more  proves  his  incapacity  for  religion  than 
does  his  inability  to  grasp  the  distances  of  the  fixed  stars 
prove  him  incapable  of  finding  his  way  from  room  to  room 
in  his  earthly  father's  house. 

Properly  understood,  the  religion  of  the  child  and  the  re- 
ligion of  the  adolescent  have  much  in  common,  as  well  as 
some  features  that  distinguish  the  one  from  the  other.  Re- 
ligion in  youth  is  more  subjectively  personal  than  in  child- 
hood. If  the  religion  of  childhood  is  natural  religion,  as 
is  sometimes  said,  the  religion  of  youth  is  spiritual.  And 
yet  it  retains,  and  should  retain,  many  of  the  essential  fea- 
tures of  its  earlier  stage.  In  becoming  more  spiritual  it 
does  not  cease  to  be  natural.  For  the  mind  of  youth  is 
strongly  disposed  to  find  spiritual  meaning  in,  rather  than 
apart  from,  the  objects  of  nature  and  the  events  and  re- 
lationships of  human  life.  Boys  and  girls  of  this  age  are 
exceedingly  prone  to  read  spirituality  into  trees,  flowers,  run- 


THE  RELIGIOUS  LIFE  189 

ning  streams,  winds  and  waves,  and  to  endow  these,  in  fancy 
at  least,  with  attributes  similar  to  those  of  the  human  spirit. 
This  is  the  personification  impulse  of  childhood,  carried  up 
to  a  higher  level  and  employed  in  a  deeper  way.  The  dif- 
ferences then  are  relative  rather  than  absolute.  There  is 
a  transition  throughout:  in  childhood  naturalism  is  in  the 
ascendant,  in  youth  religion  is  more  deeply  personal  and 
spiritual;  while  in  the  latter  part  of  the  adolescent  period 
the  reflective  element  becomes  more  and  more  pronounced, 
until,  with  maturity,  the  desire  to  fix  the  religious  life,  on  its 
intellectual  side,  in  formulae,  or  at  least  in  systematic  con- 
cepts and  logical  judgments,  and  to  set  it  forth  in  close-knit 
systems  of  such  concepts  and  judgments,  finds  its  satisfac- 
tion in  creeds  and  systematic  theologies.  So,  if  we  have  a 
liking  for  short  and  expressive  terms,  we  may  say  that  the 
religion  of  childhood  is  natural,  that  of  youth  is  personal, 
and  that  of  maturity  is  doctrinal. 

All  this  is  in  accord  with  what  psychology  has  to  say 
about  the  nature  of  man  and  the  order  of  his  development 
in  general,  and  justifies  the  expectation  that  the  religious 
life,  in  so  far  at  least  as  it  is  a  matter  of  observation,  is  in 
co-ordination  with  the  psycho-physical  development  as  a 
whole.  For  in  childhood  there  is  a  simple,  direct  response 
to  the  impressions  of  the  environment,  on  the  sensori-motor 
reflex  plane,  without  the  possibility  of  the  deeper  and 
stronger  emotions,  and  with  a  minimum  of  logical  interpre- 
tation or  critical  analysis.  In  youth  this  nai've  outlook  gives 
way  by  degrees  to  one  in  which  the  subjective  elements  play 
a  more  prominent  part,  with  the  simple  feelings  giving  place 
to  the  profounder  emotions,  mere  sense-perception  being 
supplemented  by  the  more  ambitious  processes  of  cognition, 
and  the  instinctive  and  habitual  motor  reactions  by  deliber- 
ate choice  and  higher  volition;  while  in  the  life  of  the  ma- 
ture man  these  processes  become  relatively  fixed  and  settled 
along  certain  general  lines.  The  question  whether  a  man's 
religion,  as  it  crystallizes  in  doctrinal  forms,  shall  lose  its 
vitality  and  become  a  mere  husk,  having  no  vigor  and  pro- 


i9o    THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

viding  no  nutriment  to  his  soul,  depends  very  largely  on  the 
manner  in  which  the  process  of  crystallization  takes  place. 
If  the  concepts  and  judgments  that  constitute  the  elements 
of  his  religious  thought  were  built  up  merely  for  their  own 
sake,  and  their  vital  connexion  with  his  feelings  and  con- 
duct lost  sight  of,  then  the  "  doctrinal  "  stage  of  religion 
is  also  the  "  dead  "  stage.  If  the  religion  of  the  little  child 
is  likely  to  be  somewhat  formal,  it  is  because  it  has  not  yet 
been  taken  up  into  the  higher  realms  of  interpretation  and 
feeling;  if  the  religion  of  the  mature  man  shows  a  tendency 
to  become  formal  and  devitalized,  it  is  because  it  has  been 
allowed  to  slip  away  from  its  living  connexion  with  the 
deeper  movements  of  thought  and  feeling.  The  formality 
of  the  child's  religion  is  the  formality  of  immaturity;  that 
of  the  man's  religion  is,  in  such  a  case,  the  formality  of 
decadence. 

The  religion  of  the  teens  should  be  free  from  both  these 
kinds  of  formality.  Under  ordinarily  favorable  conditions, 
personal  religion  should,  at  this  age,  be  full  of  vitality. 
Religious  practices  and  observances,  which  have  been  taught 
and  have  grown  habitual,  should  now  become  instinct  with 
life  and  significance.  If  they  refuse  to  be  made  so,  they 
should  be  discarded.  Many  terms  whose  meaning  has  been 
hazy  and  superficial,  may  now  become  profoundly  signifi- 
cant. Prayers  that  have  been  "  said  "  daily  because  the 
child  has  been  taught  so  to  do  may  now  be  uttered  with  a 
strong  consciousness  of  spiritual  fellowship  with  the  Divine. 
Portions  of  the  Scriptures  have  been  committed  to  memory, 
and  church  services  have  been  attended,  because  it  was  the 
custom  among  those  who  formed  the  child's  social  environ- 
ment and  was  required  at  his  hands.  Now  these  things 
are  done  with  a  definite  and  conscious  purpose,  it  may  be. 
Or,  it  may  be  that  they  are  discontinued,  because  the  indi- 
vidual has  come  to  that  point  where  he  recognizes  the  in- 
adequacy of  custom  and  social  requirement  as  a  basis  or 
ground  for  religious  practices,  but  has  not  yet  come  to  that 
point  where  he  sees  the  full  meaning  of  those  practices, 


THE  RELIGIOUS  LIFE  191 

and  the  true  grounds  upon  which  they  are  justified.  In 
short,  the  religion  of  the  adolescent  must  be  vital  religion, 
taking  hold  upon  all  the  springs  of  his  being,  or  otherwise 
it  is  likely  to  be  shuffled  off  and  discarded  as  an  impediment 
to  the  life. 

Among  the  distinctive  features  of  the  religion  of  adoles- 
cence there  are  two  that  stand  out  with  special  prominence. 
These  are,  first,  the  experience  of  intellectual  doubts  and 
difficulties,  with  or  without  emotional  tension  and  upheaval; 
and,  secondly,  the  experience  commonly  known  as  "  con- 
version." That  these  are  very  common  in  youth,  though 
very  rare  in  childhood,  is  not  a  matter  for  surprise,  in  the 
light  of  what  has  been  said  of  the  nature  of  the  child's 
development. 

Doubt  and  difficulty,  in  regard  to  religious  questions,  and 
in  connexion  with  religious  situations,  are  more  common  at 
this  age  than  at  any  other,  as  statistics  show.  This  is 
exactly  what  was  to  be  expected.  Religion  has  to  do  with 
the  profoundest  realities  that  can  engage  the  attention. 
Thoughts  about  these  profound  realities  arise  even  in  child- 
hood, and  questions  regarding  them  are  asked,  and  get  an- 
swered in  some  sort  of  way,  even  then.  These  answers, 
as  already  pointed  out,  are  necessarily  inadequate,  not  only 
because  all  human  answers  to  such  questions  must  be  so,  but 
also  because  the  mind  of  the  child  could  not  take  in  a  really 
adequate  answer,  even  if  such  were  forthcoming.  They  are 
also  usually  quite  dogmatic,  in  the  sense  of  being  unexplained, 
and  given  on  someone's  bare  authority.  All  this  is  as  it 
should  be,  and  as  it  must  necessarily  be,  in  childhood.  But 
the  time  inevitably  comes,  in  the  progress  of  the  mind 
towards  maturity,  when  these  questions,  along  with  their 
traditional  and  customary  answers,  have  to  submit  to  a 
closer  scrutiny.  The  age  of  conscious  criticism  begins,  and 
from  this  criticism  nothing  is  of  necessity  free.  There  is 
no  privileged  doctrine  or  theological  proposition  that  is  by 
its  nature  immune.  Suspicion  may  arise  as  to  the  pos- 
sibility of  error  where  formerly  there  was  nothing  but  im- 


192     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

plicit  acceptance.  This,  of  course,  is  also  as  it  should  be. 
For  the  mind  does  not  really  possess  truth  in  its  own  right 
unless  that  truth  is  reasoned,  and  reasoned  by  the  individual 
himself.  A  distinguished  educator  once  said  that  it  was  as 
impossible  for  one  person  to  think  for  another  as  it  would 
be  to  digest  for  him.  And  since  truth  is  made  one's  own 
only  by  being  thought  out  by  oneself,  it  follows  that  the 
process  of  thinking  out  the  truth  is  quite  essential,  if  the 
mind  is  to  attain  normal  growth,  and  become  equipped  for 
the  performance  of  its  essential  functions.  Truth  is  not  a 
thing  in  itself,  independent  of  personality,  an  alien  thing, 
to  which  one  may  become  reconciled,  or  an  external  thing 
which  one  may  put  on  as  one  puts  on  a  garment.  If  truth 
is  really  to  live,  it  must  live  in  the  active  thinking  of  living 
minds;  and  if  minds  are  to  be  really  living,  they  must  live 
as  the  active  exponents  of  the  truth. 

But  there  are  all  degrees  of  this  living  grasp  and  com- 
prehension of  the  truth.  For  the  little  child,  truth  must  of 
necessity  be  measurably  an  external  thing.  He  has  not  con- 
structed it  for  himself  except  in  the  most  rudimentary  way, 
nor  is  he  capable  of  so  doing.  Truth  is  partly  a  formula,  as 
duty  is  partly  a  habit.  The  reason  of  both,  in  the  deepest 
sense,  has  yet  to  be  discovered.  And  the  progress  of  the 
individual  from  infancy  through  childhood  and  youth  to 
manhood,  so  far  as  the  intellect  is  concerned,  may  be  mea- 
sured by  the  degree  in  which  this  reason  has  been,  or  is  be- 
ing, energetically  and  successfully  sought  out. 

Now  this  searching  out  implies  the  effort  to  discover 
foundations,  to  bring  to  light  the  bases  on  which  the  super- 
structure of  belief  rests,  to  reveal  the  premises  from  which 
the  conclusions,  heretofore  accepted  on  bare  authority,  are 
inferred.  It  may  be  easily  seen  how  this  involves  the  com- 
prehension of  statements  in  their  relation  to  one  another 
in  a  system  or  whole  of  truths,  instead  of  the  apprehension 
of  single  propositions  or  statements  in  their  isolation  from 
one  another.  This  effort  to  construct  a  system  of  truths, 
which  will  stand  the  test  of  criticism,  and  in  which  every 


THE  RELIGIOUS  LIFE  193 

single  proposition  will  be  seen  in  its  living  and  necessary  re- 
lation to  the  whole,  is  the  natural  accompaniment  and  the 
direct  consequence  of  that  general  expansion  of  the  physical 
being  and  of  the  mental  horizon  which  is  bound  to  occur 
in  youth.  Mental  perspective  has  become  more  necessary. 
Ideas  which  have  heretofore  dwelt  side  hy  side  in  conscious- 
ness without  any  sense  of  clash  or  conflict,  may  now  reveal 
to  the  more  alert  mind  of  youth  certain  incongruities  and 
contradictions.  Now  for  the  first  time  these  incongruities 
produce  mental  unrest  and  discomfort,  and  provoke  the 
effort  at  readjustment.  If  in  this  process  of  readjustment 
and  reinterpretation  it  is  found  necessary  to  discard  any 
long-cherished  belief,  or  even  to  recast  and  restate  its  inter- 
pretation; if  any  long-observed  religious  custom  or  ritual 
seems  to  lose  its  traditional  justification,  without  immedi- 
ately finding  some  other  that  commends  itself  to  the  logical 
faculty,  this  mental  unrest  and  discomfort  may  become  very 
acute,  causing,  for  a  time,  great  mental  suffering,  which  may, 
indeed,  be  so  severe  as  seriously  to  interfere  with  the  bodily 
health,  or  even  with  the  balance  and  poise  of  the  mental 
powers. 

Among  those  who  have  borne  testimony  concerning  these 
periods  of  doubt  a  considerable  number  appear  to  believe 
that  the  study  of  science  and  philosophy  were  the  immediate 
occasion  of  their  unrest;  the  former  by  setting  forth  facts 
with  which,  for  the  time  being  at  least,  certain  doctrines, 
previously  held  sacred,  could  not  be  harmonized;  the  latter 
by  bringing  before  the  mind  problems  of  such  profound  sig- 
nificance as  to  require  a  readjustment  of  the  entire  mental 
perspective.  The  meaning  of  truth,  the  constitution  of  real- 
ity, the  conditions- of  knowledge,  the  conception  of  the  good; 
these  are  examples  of  the  sort  of  problems  with  which  the 
mind  is  brought  face  to  face  in  the  study  of  philosophy;  and 
they  are  often  taken  very  seriously  by  the  youth,  whose  whole 
being  throbs  with  the  impulse  to  understand  and  to  achieve. 

But  the  "  immediate  occasion  "  of  a  thing  is  not  the 
same  as  its  cause.  And  the  real  cause  of  religious  doubt 


i94    THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

lies  further  back  than  the  study  of  science  and  philosophy. 
For  some  minds  are  assailed  by  doubts  and  difficulties  with- 
out having  studied  either  science  or  philosophy,  while  others 
have  pursued  these  studies  without  being  assailed  by  doubts 
or  difficulties.  The  real  cause  is  the  expansion  of  the  mind, 
the  enlargement  of  the  mental  outlook,  and  the  augmenta- 
tion of  the  emotional  currents,  that  take  place  at  the  time 
of  puberty.  These  changes  are  almost  certain  to  bring  with 
them  a  new  impulse  to  scrutinize  those  things  that  have 
heretofore  been  taken  for  granted.  Science  and  philosophy 
may  for  a  time  aggravate  the  disorder  (if  it  may  be  called 
a  disorder)  but  it  is  to  be  noted  that  in  many  cases  these 
studies  have  been  instrumental  in  removing  those  very 
doubts  which  they  were  responsible  for  aggravating.  The 
same  mental  process,  which  at  first  revealed  the  contradic- 
tions in  one's  beliefs,  also  led  the  way  to  a  higher  interpre- 
tation, in  which  those  contradictions  were  cleared  away. 
The  light  that  revealed  the  fog  helped  to  dispel  it. 

As  to  the  content  or  subject-matter  of  doubt,  inquiries 
such  as  those  of  Starbuck  indicate  that  in  most  cases  the 
things  doubted  belong  to  the  class  of  propositions  which 
have  been  taught,  in  the  period  of  childhood,  dogmatically, 
and  which  have  been  accepted  by  the  childish  mind  on  ex- 
ternal authority  and  with  a  minimum  of  comprehension. 
Doctrines  touching  the  origin  of  things,  the  authority  of 
the  Bible,  the  person  of  Christ,  certain  of  the  divine  at- 
tributes, certain  of  the  attributes  of  the  human  soul  and 
its  destiny,  stand  first  among  the  things  that  come  to  be 
doubted  in  these  years.  It  will  be  observed  that  these  are 
among  the  things  that  lie  beyond  the  realm  where  proof  in 
the  ordinary  sense  is  possible,  and  their  acceptance,  in  con- 
sequence, involves  a  demand  upon  the  faculty  of  faith,  in 
that  sense  in  which  it  means  the  acceptance  of  something 
upon  authority.  If  a  suspicion  is  aroused  regarding  the 
trustworthiness  of  such  authority,  faith  is  undermined,  and 
mental  distress,  for  a  time  at  least,  is  the  result. 

But  this  is  not  the  whole  of  the  matter.     Religious  un- 


THE  RELIGIOUS  LIFE  195 

rest  is  not  exclusively  intellectual,  either  in  its  origin  or  in 
its  character.  It  is  also  emotional,  and  in  some  cases  pre- 
dominantly so.  Often  there  are  no  definitely  formulated 
questions  to  be  answered  by  the  mind,  no  clearly  stated  prop- 
ositions to  be  challenged  by  the  reason.  But  the  whole 
inner  life  becomes  restless.  The  ferment  of  the  new  wine 
threatens  the  integrity  of  the  old  bottles,  not  because  these 
have  been  examined  and  found  seamy,  but  simply  because 
of  the  expansion  and  ferment  within.  Hence  many  of 
those  who  experience  spiritual  unrest  are  unable  to  make 
any  definite  statement  as  to  its  cause.  They  simply  feel 
themselves  at  sea,  "  driven  with  the  wind  and  tossed."  This 
is  more  frequently  the  case  with  girls  than  with  boys.  The 
former  are  more  liable  to  experience  feelings  of  spiritual 
restlessness  without  being  able  to  give  any  reason;  the  lat- 
ter show  a  larger  percentage  of  cases  where  some  definite 
propositions  are  under  critical  examination. 

Connected  in  the  closest  way  with  these  phenomena  ot 
spiritual  questioning,  and  indeed  in  many  cases  beginning 
with  them,  is  that  experience  usually  discussed  under  some 
such  heading  as  "  Conversion  "  or  "  The  New  Birth."  The 
facts  involved  have  received  diverse  interpretations,  and 
various  opinions  have  been  held  as  to  their  real  place  in  the 
religious  life.  Different  religious  bodies  attach  different 
values  to  these  phenomena. 

It  may  be  worth  while  to  state  roughly,  and  without  dis- 
cussion, the  two  opposite  poles  of  belief  with  regard  to  the 
significance  of  conversion.  According  to  the  one,  every 
human  soul  without  exception  is  a  castaway,  who  needs  to 
be  saved  from  perdition.  Unless  he  is  to  go  down  swiftly  to 
everlasting  ruin  he  must  be  rescued  by  divine  intervention, 
and  have  his  guilt  removed  and  his  conscience  cleansed  by 
divine  grace,  in  response  to  his  own  repentance  and  self- 
humiliation.  Those  who  look  upon  the  matter  from  this 
point  of  view  naturally  attach  special  importance  to  a  pro- 
nounced change,  occurring  at  some  definite  time  once  for 
all,  accompanied  by  a  certain  depth  of  emotion,  and  issuing 


196     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

in  a  state  of  inward  peace,  which,  theoretically  at  least,  re- 
mains permanent. 

From  the  opposite  point  of  view  the  religious  life,  in  its 
inception,  is  not  so  much  the  rescue  of  the  soul  from  im- 
pending disaster,  as  the  entering  in  of  the  soul  upon  a  larger 
measure  of  its  rightful  inheritance.  The  native  instincts 
of  the  soul  are  not  wholly  evil,  but  they  require  to  be  de- 
veloped, corrected,  and  it  may  be,  counteracted,  to  pro- 
duce a  well-rounded  character.  According  to  this  view  the 
religious  life  is  almost  wholly  a  matter  of  education. 
"  Conversion,"  as  involving  struggle  and  distress,  and  issu- 
ing in  reconciliation  and  peace,  is  regarded  as  at  best  only 
incidental,  and  not  at  all  of  the  essence  of  religious  experi- 
ence. 

I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  each  of  these  views  con- 
tains a  measure  of  the  truth,  but  that  neither  of  them  con- 
tains the  whole  truth.  The  important  facts  from  the  stand- 
point of  the  psychology  of  the  religious  life,  are  these : 

1.  That  the  phenomena  of  "conversion"    (its  serious- 
ness, its  fears  and  distress,  its  crisis,  its  sense  of  personal 
need,  either  in  the  way  of  deliverance  from  bondage  and 
fear,  or  in  the  way  of  help  in  attaining  to  some  higher  self- 
realization,  its  emergence  out  of  darkness  into  light  and 
calm,  with  the  clear  conviction  of  having  passed  from  a 
state  of  perdition  to  a  state  of  salvation)  are  quite  beyond 
question  or  dispute,  so  far  as  their  genuineness  is  concerned. 
They  have  been  experienced  by  countless  numbers  of  per- 
sons in  all  ages. 

2.  That  while  these  phenomena  vary  considerably  from 
individual  to  individual,  there  is  an  essential  similarity  be- 
neath all  the  variety.     In  all  cases  there  is  a  transition  from 
a  state  of  unrest  or  distress  to  a  state  of  rest  or  peace.     The 
unrest  may  be  of  any  degree  of  intensity,  from  the  faintest 
ripple  of  uneasiness  to  a  mental  agony  so  great  as  to  de- 
throne the  reason  or  drive  the  subject  of  it  to  suicide,  un- 
less relief  is  soon  obtained.     The  distress  may  be  long  con- 
tinued,  or  of   the   briefest   duration.     Some   persons   are 


THE  RELIGIOUS  LIFE  197 

"  under  conviction  "  for  years,  while  others  settle  the  ques- 
tion in  an  hour.  The  peace  that  follows  may  also  be  of 
any  degree  of  intensity,  from  a  just  appreciable  accession 
of  serenity,  to  a  joy  that  is  literally  "  unspeakable  and  full 
of  glory."  The  intensity  of  the  joy  is  usually  in  direct  pro- 
portion to  the  intensity  of  the  distress  by  which  it  was  pre- 
ceded. Moreover,  it  may  fluctuate  greatly,  and  usually 
shows  a  tendency  to  diminish  somewhat  and  take  on  a 
soberer  character  as  time  goes  on,  and  the  new  convert  en- 
counters the  difficulties  and  temptations  of  the  way,  and 
finds  that  he  is  not  going  to  be  "  carried  to  the  skies  on 
flowery  beds  of  ease,"  but  rather,  like  Bunyan's  Pilgrim  at 
the  Hill  Difficulty,  finds  himself  compelled  to  "  fall  from 
running  to  going  and  from  going  to  clambering  upon  his 
hands  and  knees,  because  of  the  steepness  of  the  place." 

3.  There  may  be,  and  often  is,   a  religious  "  awaken- 
ing," or  increase  of  interest  in  spiritual  things,  which  is  not 
sufficiently  pronounced  in  character  to  be  styled  conversion, 
as  usually  defined,  since  it  lacks  entirely  the  elements  of 
struggle  and  victory. 

4.  Moreover,  this  new  life,  with  its  attendant  elation, 
so  far  as  we  can  judge  of  it  from  the  observable  facts,  may 
be  permanent  or  temporary.     In  multitudes  of  cases  the 
life  and  character,  the  emotional  and  volitional  attitudes, 
and  the  judgments  and  convictions  as  to  moral  and  spiritual 
values,  have  taken  on  a  new  quality  and  a  new  direction 
which  remain  until  the  end  of  life;  but  many  cases  are  on 
record,  of  persons  who  have  manifested  all  the  outward 
symptoms  of  a  genuine  conversion,  and  have  afterwards  be- 
come utterly  godless  and  remained  so. 

5.  Again,   if  the  process   of  "  conversion "   necessarily 
involves  a  more  or  less  violent  and  spectacular  change,  with 
an  appreciable  measure  of  spiritual  distress,   followed  by 
an  appreciable  accession  of  relief  and  peace,  then  it  is  im- 
possible to  maintain  that  conversion  is  essential  to  a  truly 
religious  life.     For  in  the  first  place,  it  seldom  occurs  in 
childhood.     It  is  rare  before  twelve  and  very  rare  before 


i98     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

eight.  And  in  the  second  place,  there  are  many  persons, 
some  of  them  children,  some  of  them  persons  of  older 
growth,  who,  judged  by  Christ's  own  tests,  are  genuine 
Christians,  but  who  have  never  known  the  unrest  and 
struggle  involved  in  such  conversion.  In  these  cases,  as 
Starbuck  points  out,  the  character  and  habits  are  gradually 
built  up,  and  you  have  a  new  man  before  you  realize  what 
ib  going  on.  Many  of  the  finest  specimens  of  Christian 
character  belong  to  this  class. 

To  those  who  are  concerned  to  maintain  that  conversion  is 
a  strictly  "  supernatural,"  as  distinguished  from  a  "  nat- 
ural "  process,  and  that  it  is  absolutely  essential  to  the  reli- 
gious life,  two  courses  of  reasoning  are  open.  They  may, 
on  the  one  hand,  deny,  with  Lancaster,  that  the  "  religion  " 
of  a  little  child  can  be  anything  more  than  a  purely  formal 
affair  (which,  in  my  judgment,  is  equivalent  to  denying  that 
the  little  child  can  be  religious  at  all)  or  they  may,  on  the 
ether  hand,  deny  that  conversion  necessarily  involves  any 
noticeable  degree  of  struggle  or  distress,  or  any  conscious- 
ness of  a  transition  from  this  state  to  one  of  spiritual  calm. 
The  one  essential  thing,  they  may  say,  is  that  there  be  at- 
tained a  definite  and  satisfactory  spiritual  condition;  that 
one's  feet  be  planted  on  the  rock  and  one's  going  established; 
and  that  whether  this  be  accomplished  by  little,  or  by  much, 
or  by  none  at  all,  of  the  spectacular  element,  is  a  question  of 
quite  secondary  importance.  The  work  of  the  Spirit  may 
be  accomplished  through  the  earthquake,  the  wind,  the  fire, 
or  the  still  small  voice;  and  which  of  these  shall  be  the 
agency  of  conversion  in  any  given  case  depends  on  the  na- 
ture of  the  given  case  and  the  circumstances  surrounding  it. 

Without  stopping  to  argue  the  doctrinal  questions  con- 
nected with  conversion,  I  may  simply  record  my  conviction 
that  the  second  of  the  above  alternatives  seems  the  logical 
one.  At  the  same  time  I  may  throw  out  the  suggestion 
that  the  "  natural  "  and  the  "  supernatural "  need  not  be 
so  antithetically  conceived  that  any  process  which  is  de- 
fined in  terms  of  the  one  must  necessarily  exclude  from  it- 


THE  RELIGIOUS  LIFE  199 

self  all  participation  in  the  other.  The  more  closely  one 
looks  at  these  two  things,  the  natural  and  the  supernatural, 
the  more  difficult  it  is  to  say  exactly  where  the  one  begins 
and  the  other  leaves  off.  The  important  question  is  not 
whether  the  child's  religion  is  "  natural  "  or  "  supernatural," 
but  whether  it  is  the  real  religion  of  childhood.  It  matters 
little,  therefore,  which  of  these  terms  we  apply  to  the  case; 
but  it  matters  a  great  deal  that  we  understand  what  the 
case  really  is. 

6.  Perhaps  the  most  significant  fact  of  all  is  this,  that 
in  the  vast  majority  of  cases  "  conversion,"  as  described 
above,  occurs  among  persons  in  the  adolescent  period  of  life. 
I  have  said  that  it  is  rare  before  twelve  and  very  rare  before 
eight.  Let  me  now  add  that  it  is  rare  after  twenty-five 
and  very  rare  after  thirty.  Careful  examination  of  the 
most  important  studies  that  have  been  made  on  the  sub- 
ject, with  their  tabulated  results,  supplemented  by  many  ob- 
servations of  my  own,  not  so  systematically  tabulated,  con- 
firms and  justifies  the  conviction,  widely  held  among  those 
interested  in  the  matter,  that  there  is  something  about  the 
life  of  the  teens  that  predisposes  it  towards  religious  ex- 
perience, in  the  deeper  and  more  "  heartfelt  "  meaning  .of 
that  term.  It  is  well  known  among  religious  workers  that 
the  majority  of  those  who  are  added  to  the  churches  come 
from  the  ranks  of  the  young;  and  in  most  religious  bodies 
there  is  an  expectation,  tacit  or  avowed,  that  some  positive 
stand  in  regard  to  the  claims  of  personal  religion  will  be 
made  in  the  teens  if  it  is  not  made  before.  In  some  com- 
munions special  provision  is  made,  in  the  shape  of  an  appro- 
priate ceremony,  for  the  public  signalizing  and  ratification  of 
this  positive  action.  Scientific  study  of  the  facts,  both  statis- 
tical and  psychological,  serves  to  corroborate  this  common 
observation  as  to  the  conversion  of  the  young,  and  to  justify 
the  prevalent  expectation  based  upon  it. 

All  the  evidence  points  in  one  direction,  and  bears  out  the 
following  statements:  that  the  vast  majority  of  those  who 
are  converted  are  between  the  ages  of  twelve  and  twenty- 


200     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

five  when  the  experience  occurs;  that  the  vast  majority 
(perhaps  five-sixths)  of  these  are  between  twelve  and 
twenty;  that  of  these  latter,  the  larger  proportion  are  be- 
tween fourteen  and  eighteen;  and  that  the  most  fruitful 
epoch  for  pronounced  religious  experience  lies  about  midway 
between  these  last  dates.  If  the  statistics  of  conversion  are 
represented  by  means  of  a  curve  drawn  upon  a  chart  (as  has 
been  done  by  Starbuck,  Hall,  Coe,  and  others)  the  curve 
will  be  found  to  rise  rapidly,  though  irregularly,  through  the 
early  teens,  reaching  its  highest  point  at  sixteen,  and  then 
falling  away,  again  irregularly,  towards  maturity.  I  say 
"  irregularly  "  because  the  curve,  besides  rising  to  its  apex 
at  sixteen,  will  be  observed  to  rise,  at  thirteen  and  again  at 
eighteen  or  nineteen,  to  lesser  heights;  showing  that  there 
are,  at  these  two  points,  pronounced  conversion-waves, 
though  not  so  pronounced  as  at  sixteen. 

The  curve  for  females  does  not  differ  very  materially 
from  that  for  males,  the  highest  point  here  also  being  at 
sixteen,  with  less  pronounced  waves  at  thirteen  and  eight- 
een. The  conclusion  is  irresistible  that  strong  religious  con- 
victions, deep  religious  feelings,  and  pronounced  religious 
decisions,  are  more  likely  to  occur  in  adolescence  than  in 
any  other  period  of  life,  and  most  likely  of  all  about  the 
middle  of  that  period.  It  is  for  biology  and  psychology  to 
seek  an  explanation  for  these  facts  in  the  nature  and  laws 
of  psycho-physical  development. 

7.  So  far  we  have  contented  ourselves  with  describ- 
ing the  process  of  conversion  only  in  its  general  outlines, 
as  involving  a  transition  from  a  state  of  unrest  to  a  state 
of  rest  and  peace;  both  the  rest  and  the  unrest  varying 
widely,  in  different  cases,  not  only  in  their  intensity,  but 
also  in  their  persistence;  while  the  transition  itself  may 
occupy  a  shorter  or  longer  time,  and  be  achieved  through 
a  greater  or  lesser  degree  of  conscious  effort  and  struggle. 
A  further  word  should  now  be  added  respecting  the  ground 
or  reason  of  the  state  of  unrest,  as  understood  by  the  sub- 
ject of  the  experience;  and,  as  a  consequence  of  this,  the 


THE  RELIGIOUS  LIFE  201 

distinctive  character  of  that  happy  psychical  condition  which 
is  understood  to  be  the  issue  or  outcome  of  the  entire  ex- 
perience. 

From  this  point  of  view  there  appear  to  be  three  lead- 
ing types  of  religious  experience,  differing  according  to  the 
manner  in  which  the  unsatisfactory  pre-conversion  state  is 
understood  by  the  subject  of  it.  It  is  not  denied,  of  course, 
that  in  many  individual  instances  the  characteristics  of  more 
than  one  of  these  types  may  be  found  mingled  to  a  greater 
or  less  extent. 

In  the  first  of  these  the  individual  believes  himself  to 
be  under  condemnation  on  account  of  his  sins,  and  exposed 
to  spiritual  ruin  through  the  righteous  judgment  of  an 
offended  Deity.  John  Bunyan's  conception  of  the  Christian 
life  furnishes  an  excellent  illustration.  Pilgrim  flees  in 
great  haste  and  fear  from  the  doomed  City,  carrying  on 
his  back  the  burden  of  his  sins,  and  finds  the  first  alleviation 
of  his  agony  when,  at  the  sight  of  a  Cross  by  the  wayside, 
his  burden^  falls  from  his  shoulders  and  disappears  for- 
ever. The  ensuing  condition  of  joy  and  peace,  in  such 
cases  as  this,  arises  out  of  the  consciousness  of  reconcilia- 
tion with  God,  through  the  atonement  wrought  by  the 
Christ. 

It  is  important  to  notice  that  this  type  of  conversion 
occurs  more  commonly  among  persons  to  whom  "  convic- 
tion of  sin  "  has  come  later  in  life ;  though  it  is  fairly  fre- 
quent in  youth  and  not  altogether  unknown  in  later  child- 
hood. It  is  also  more  frequent  in  the  case  of  persons  in 
whose  early  teaching  the  doctrines  of  Sin  and  Atonement 
have  held  a  prominent  place.  I  am  inclined  to  believe, 
however,  that  even  among  these,  a  considerable  number 
of  those  who  are  converted  before  twenty,  as  well  as  a 
fair  proportion  of  those  who  are  converted  after  that  age, 
experience  no  very  poignant  consciousness  of  guilt  and  con- 
demnation. 

In  religious  experience  of  the  second  type  the  distress  of 
the  pre-conversion  stage  is  due,  not  so  much  to  the  con- 


sciousness  of  personal  guilt  in  the  sight  of  a  holy  God,  as 
to  the  consciousness  of  personal  failure  to  realize  an  ideal. 
"  Conviction  "  in  this  case,  has  reference  to  shortcoming 
rather  than  positive  sin  (though  the  two  may  be  co-impli- 
cated) and  "  perdition  "  is  understood  in  its  etymological 
sense,  as  loss  rather  than  punishment. 

This  type  of  experience  is  exceedingly  common  in  adoles- 
cence, for  this  is  the  age  of  ideals  and  aspirations,  as  we 
have  already  pointed  out;  and  where  the  early  teaching  and 
environment  have  been  ethically  wholesome  and  inspiring, 
"  conversion  "  is  extremely  likely  to  be  of  this  character. 
This  is  a  fact  whose  importance,  in  relation  to  the  religious 
education  of  the  young,  can  hardly  be  exaggerated. 

From  the  very  nature  of  these  cases  the  post-conversion 
stage  may  be  less  positively  joyous  and  peaceful  than  in 
cases  of  the  previous  type.  For  while  the  consciousness  of 
pardon  may  come  in  a  moment,  in  all  its  completeness,  the 
consciousness  of  a  realized  ideal  can  never  do  so.  For  it 
is  characteristic  of  ideals  that  they  expand  and  recede  as 
we  advance  and  achieve,  so  that  the  sense  of  short-coming 
and  failure  is  never  wholly  eliminated. 

In  religious  experience  of  the  third  type  the  distress  of 
the  pre-conversion  stage  is  due  to  the  consciousness  that 
there  is  no  harmony  in  the  inner  life,  no  coherence  of  in- 
terests, no  real  psychical  unity.  The  inner  condition  here 
is  difficult  to  describe  with  any  precision,  but  that  there 
really  are  such  cases,  and  especially  in  early  and  middle 
adolescence,  when  the  whole  being  is  undergoing  reconstruc- 
tion, is  attested  by  many  observations. 

The  issue  and  outcome  of  this  type  of  experience  does 
not  depend  on  intellectual  processes,  nor  even  on  the  exercise 
of  religious  faith,  to  the  same  extent  as  in  the  other  types  of 
cases.  The  subject  of  the  experience  is  not  able  to  say  with 
any  definiteness  what  is  wrong,  nor  in  what  way  that  which 
is  wrong  may  be  made  right.  It  is  emotional  unrest,  rather 
than  logical  contradiction,  which  he  feels  within  him.  And 
the  inner  confusion  may  give  place  to  order,  and  the  tur- 


THE  RELIGIOUS  LIFE  203 

moil  to  peace,  quite  in  the  absence  of  any  reasoned  convic- 
tions or  definite  decisions.  The  atmosphere  simply  clears 
up,  as  fog  and  clouds  roll  away  from  a  landscape,  under 
the  rays  of  the  morning  sun. 

Biologically  and  psychologically  all  these  types  are  to  be 
explained  with  reference  to  the  same  general  principles,  their 
differences  from  one  another  being  due  to  differences  in 
native  disposition  and  temperament,  or  in  early  training  and 
environment. 

It  is  clear,  from  what  has  been  said  in  earlier  chapters, 
that  this  period  of  life  is  marked  by  a  general  quickening 
and  unifying  of  the  entire  being,  and  a  pronounced  intensi- 
fication of  all  the  vital  and  psychic  forces.  Now,  as  never 
before,  beauty  and  ugliness,  truth  and  falsehood,  right  and 
wrong,  stand  out  clearly  before  the  consciousness,  and  stir 
the  whole  being  to  its  profoundest  depths.  Instincts  that 
have  slumbered  hitherto,  awaken  now  into  full  functioning 
and  manifest  themselves  in  new  desires  and  aversions.  In- 
terests multiply  and  intensify,  and  the  objects  of  these  in- 
terests become  greatly  varied  in  their  character.  Under 
the  pressure  of  those  inner  forces  the  constituents  of  the 
mental  life,  which  in  childhood  were  relatively  loose  and 
ununified,  become  relatively  organized  and  unified.  Life  be- 
gins to  be  seen  as  a  whole,  with  a  single  meaning  and  a 
single  purpose. 

This  unification  takes  place,  not  only  within  the  individual 
mental  life,  but  between  the  individual  and  his  social  environ- 
ment. The  unity  of  the  self  with  other  selves  is  recog- 
nized. Interest  in  the  social  order  becomes  explicit  and 
vigorous.  Human  relationships,  such  as  those  of  parent 
and  child,  brother  and  sister,  playmate,  neighbor,  fellow- 
student,  take  on  profounder  meanings,  and  give  rise  to 
deeper  emotions;  while  the  awakening  sex-consciousness  in- 
vests half  the  social  environment  with  a  peculiar  interest 
which  is  as  yet  but  vaguely  and  imperfectly  understood. 
The  whole  nature  is  open  and  receptive  to  impressions  from 
every  quarter;  but  this  is  not  all,  for  childhood  too  is  open 


204     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

and  impressionable  in  a  high  degree.  The  impressions 
now  sink  deeper,  and  take  a  firmer  and  more  permanent  hold 
on  the  inner  life.  The  tendency  is  to  spiritualize,  to  moral- 
ize, and  to  think  in  terms  of  personality,  of  duty,  and  of 
destiny.  The  meaning  of  life  as  a  whole,  and  with  that  the 
demands  of  duty,  the  claims  of  conscience,  and  the  lure  of 
ideals,  begin  to  stir  the  soul  as  they  never  could  in  child- 
hood. Life's  vocation,  life's  purpose,  life's  principles,  and 
life's  responsibilities,  begin  to  press  upon  the  adolescent  con- 
sciousness. All  this  shooting  together  of  many  currents  into 
one,  this  confluence  of  many  rivulets  to  make  the  broad 
river,  is  characteristic  of  adolescence;  it  is  not  usually  ac- 
complished without  some  measure  of  distress,  and  when  it 
is  accomplished,  and  in  proportion  as  it  is  accomplished, 
there  is  peace. 

Now  if  all  this  be  true  in  regard  to  the  lesser  syntheses  of 
life,  will  it  not  also  be  true  in  regard  to  that  supreme 
synthesis  in  which  life  as  such,  with  the  totality  of  its  in- 
terests, becomes  consciously  related  to  the  divine  purpose 
and  the  divine  will?  This  supreme  synthesis  can  hardly  be 
made  earlier,  for  reasons  already  pointed  out;  if  it  is  not 
made  now,  or  if  it  is  wrongly  made,  so  that  life  is  focussed 
in  the  wrong  direction  or  adjusted  about  a  wrong  center, 
the  loss  is  rarely  made  good,  and  when  made  good,  it  is 
at  great  cost.  As  in  orthopedics  it  sometimes  happens  that 
a  crooked  limb  must  be  broken  in  order  to  be  made  straight, 
so  in  these  spiritual  matters;  the  heart  must  in  some  cases 
be  broken  in  order  to  be  made  whole. 

The  period  of  youth,  then,  seems  to  be  the  psychological 
juncture  for  the  great  serious  decisions  and  deliberate  choices 
that  shall  determine  the  direction  and  the  trend  of  all  the 
remaining  years.  Hence  we  need  not  be  surprised  to  find 
that  positive  and  definite  decisions  in  regard  to  the  claims  of 
religion  —  the  most  vital  of  all  issues  —  are  made  more 
commonly  in  the  period  under  consideration  than  in  any 
other;  so  that  many  observers  have  come  to  speak  of  it  as 
the  "  normal  period  of  conversion." 


THE  RELIGIOUS  LIFE  205 

Nor  is  it  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  claims  of  religion  arc 
commonly  interpreted  now  as  the  claims  of  God  on  the  per- 
sonal devotion  of  the  believer.  For  the  religious  life,  in 
its  inmost  heart  and  core,  consists  in  personal  devotion  to 
a  supreme  personality.  Whatever  else  religion  may  include, 
this  is  the  tap  root  out  of  which  it  all  grows,  and  upon  the 
continued  vitality  of  which  everything  else  depends.  Doc- 
trine has  its  place;  organization  and  ecclesiastical  machinery 
are  to  a  certain  extent  necessary;  social  service  is  a  natural 
outcome  and  tangible  evidence  of  the  life  within;  but  that 
life  itself,  in  its  inmost  essence,  begins,  continues,  and  ends, 
in  personal  devotion  to  a  Supreme  Person.  It  was  here 
that  the  history  of  Christianity  began,  in  the  personal  call 
to  personal  discipleship ;  and  whenever  any  substitute  is 
put  in  the  place  of  that,  religion  dies  at  the  heart.  This 
fact  is  suggestive  of  many  things,  among  which  not  the 
least  important  is  this,  that  at  this  time  in  the  life  of  a  boy 
or  girl,  the  character  and  work  of  Christ,  his  sacrifice  and 
his  claims,  make  their  most  irresistible  appeal,  and  meet 
with  their  most  whole-souled  response.  The  passion  for 
personality,  which  shows  itself  in  many  ways,  is  seen  in  its 
highest  form  in  the  response  to  the  call  of  the  Christ.  His 
summons  to  service  and  sacrifice  is  often  irresistible,  for 
in  him  the  heroic  appears  in  its  supreme  form,  and  in  his 
sacrifice  spiritual  heroism  finds  its  supreme  example.  The 
youthful  heart  readily  catches  the  fire  of  spiritual  heroism, 
and  is  ready  to  follow  a  spiritual  hero  to  the  world's  end  and 
at  any  cost.  Hence  the  Cross,  where  altruism  culminates, 
and  love  has  her  perfect  work,  comes  to  its  fullest  meaning 
and  makes  its  most  powerful  appeal  in  the  days  of  youth, 
when  the  negative  limitations  of  childhood  have  been  sur- 
mounted, and  the  positive  limitations  of  maturity  have  not 
yet  been  encountered;  while  the  evil  days  come  not,  nor  the 
years  draw  nigh,  when  the  heart  of  a  man  becomes  op- 
pressed with  the  world's  evil  and  his  spirit  inoculated  with 
the  toxin  of  pessimism. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   PEDAGOGY   OF  ADOLESCENCE 

This  final  chapter  is  intended  as  a  logical  deduction,  or 
series  of  deductions,  from  the  chapters  that  have  preceded 
it,  or  as  a  practical  application  of  the  facts  brought  out  and 
the  principles  laid  down  in  those  chapters.  If  there  is  any 
sound  psychology  in  the  foregoing,  then  we  should  get  here 
our  applied  psychology.  If  normal  development  has  been 
correctly  described  there,  then  we  should  be  able  to  set  down 
here  the  essential  canons  of  educational  procedure.  And 
if  in  those  studies  we  have  found  any  outstanding  features 
belonging  to  the  period  under  review,  then  here  we  should 
be  able  to  call  attention  to  such  rules  and  methods  of  proce- 
dure as  apply  in  a  peculiar  way  to  the  education  of  the 
adolescent. 

That  there  are  such  outstanding  features,  has,  I  think, 
been  made  clear.  That  the  period  extending  from  puberty 
to  maturity  is  one  of  uncommon  vigor,  vitality,  and  growth, 
marked  by  great  intellectual  and  emotional  expansion,  by  a 
deepening  and  widening  of  the  interests,  and  by  a  pro- 
nounced accession  of  volitional  energy,  is  clear  even  to  the 
casual  observer,  and  still  more  so  to  the  scientific  investi- 
gator. This  makes  the  Pedagogy  of  Adolescence  one  of 
the  most  inviting  of  topics. 

The  reader  who  has  gone  through  the  foregoing  chapters 
will  have  no  difficulty  in  surmising  the  author's  view  as  to 
the  purpose  and  meaning  of  education.  That  meaning  and 
purpose  must  be  broadly  conceived.  To  define  it  in  terms 
that  are  purely  intellectual,  or  purely  volitional,  or  purely 
emotional,  would  be  alike  inadequate.  The  only  adequate 
statement  is  that  which  is  made  from  the  viewpoint  of  com- 

206 


THE  PEDAGOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE      207 

plete  and  balanced  personality.  That  the  rational  and 
moral  being,  who  is  the  subject  of  education,  should  find 
himself,  realize  himself,  come  into  complete  possession  of 
himself,  and  have  perfect  control  of  himself,  so  that  every 
power  is  brought  into  efficient  functioning  in  such  a  way  as 
to  reinforce  every  other  power,  so  that  there  is  no  one- 
sidedness,  no  atrophy,  and  no  hypertrophy  anywhere,  this 
is  the  goal  and  purpose  of  education. 

The  supreme  end,  properly  understood,  is  mastery.  The 
divine  purpose  in  man's  creation  was  that  he  should  "  have 
dominion,  over  the  beasts  of  the  field,  the  fowls  of  the  air, 
the  fish  of  the  sea,"  over  the  forces  and  resources  of  in- 
animate nature,  and  last,  but  not  least,  over  the  mighty  un- 
seen forces  and  resources  of  his  own  being.  He  should 
have  dominion  over  the  course  of  his  thoughts,  so  as  to  be 
able  to  call  up,  banish,  modify,  combine,  separate,  ideas  and 
trains  of  ideas  with  celerity.  He  should  be  able  to  com- 
mand the  resources  of  logical  inference.  He  should  have 
dominion  over  the  instincts,  feelings,  passions,  and  desires 
of  his  nature,  developing  them  into  rich  fruitfulness,  and 
at  the  same  time  holding  them  under  perfect  control.  He 
should  have  dominion  over  his  actions,  so  that  his  conduct 
is  always  directed  by  his  intelligence. 

But  this  is  not  all.  Mere  mastery,  even  self-mastery,  does 
not  exhaust  the  meaning  of  education.  Mere  control,  even 
of  oneself,  unless  it  be  also  self-direction  towards  the 
worthiest  ideals,  falls  short  of  the  true  purpose  of  educa- 
tion. Education  must  be  conceived,  not  merely  in  terms 
of  power,  but  also,  and  chiefly,  in  terms  of  value.  For 
power,  and  mastery,  merely  as  such,  make  destruction,  as 
well  as  construction,  possible,  maleficence  as  well  as  bene- 
ficence. 

In  the  last  analysis,  then,  the  educational  end  must  be 
stated,  not  biologically,  nor  even  psychologically,  but 
ethically.  The  most  complete  knowledge  of  the  laws  by 
which  the  processes  of  life  and  thought,  of  instinct  and 
feeling,  of  desire  and  volition,  are  governed,  while  of  im- 


208     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

mense  value,  and  quite  indispensable,  falls  just  short  of  giv- 
ing us  the  formula  we  require.  We  have  spoken  of  "  well- 
balanced  personality,"  and  of  "  mastery  "  and  "  dominion  "; 
but  what  these  phrases  are  to  stand  for,  is  a  question  whose 
answer  must  be  given  in  ethical  terms.  Unless  the  educa- 
tional process  is  carried  on  under  the  illumination  of  ethical 
ideals,  its  product  will  be  power  without  the  sense  of  duty, 
force  without  spirituality,  "culture"  without  conscience; 
the  most  brutal  and  hideous  thing  that  this  world  has  ever 
looked  upon. 

The  pedagogy  of  adolescence  will  resemble  the  pedagogy 
of  any  other  period  of  life  in  one  respect  at  least.  It  will 
be  psycho-biological  in  its  groundwork  and  method,  and  it 
will  be  ethical  and  spiritual  in  its  purpose  and  meaning. 
From  the  biological  and  psychological  standpoints  it  will 
guide  itself  by  the  ascertained  laws  of  mental  and  physical 
growth;  from  the  ethical  and  spiritual  standpoints  it  will 
bend  its  energies  to  the  realization  of  the  highest  conceivable 
ideal  of  human  life  and  character.  From  both  points  of 
view  it  will  take  account  of  the  materials  to  be  used  (the 
question  of  curriculum)  and  of  the  best  way  of  using  those 
materials  (the  question  of  pedagogic  method  proper). 

So  the  great  questions  for  the  educator  are  these :  What 
are  the  native  capacities  and  powers  possessed  by  the  pupil? 
What  are  the  essential  features  of  the  unfolding  of  those 
capacities  and  powers,  both  singly,  and  in  their  connexion 
with  one  another?  What  is  the  true  goal,  towards  which 
all  genuine  development  and  culture  should  move?  In  view 
of  the  nature  of  the  powers  and  capacities,  and  of  the 
character  of  the  goal  to  be  set  before  us,  what  are  the  most 
fruitful  methods  to  be  employed  in  all  educational  effort? 
The  answer  to  this  last  question  would  include  the  general 
principles  of  method  and  the  specific  adaptation  of  those 
principles  to  special  cases,  special  subjects,  special  conditions, 
and  special  periods  of  life. 

These  questions,  with  the  exception  of  the  last,  have  al- 
ready been  passed  under  review.  In  proceeding  to  this  last 


THE  PEDAGOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE     209 

question  (that  of  educational  method,  with  special  reference 
to  the  period  of  adolescence)  there  are  several  principles 
of  the  widest  possible  application,  but  particularly  pertinent 
to  adolescent  education,  which  on  that  account  may  be  taken 
first. 

One  of  these  general  principles  is  this,  that  adolescent 
education  should  be  free,  joyous,  and  unconstrained,  so  far 
as  possible.  I  do  not  mean  that  the  will  of  the  adolescent 
should  never  be  crossed,  nor  his  judgment  called  in  question. 
For  his  will  is  not  yet  well  disciplined,  nor  his  judgment  well 
matured.  He  makes  many  mistakes,  and  is  guilty  of  much 
foolish  behavior.  So  the  riper  judgment  of  more  mature 
persons  is  required  here  only  to  a  less  degree  than  in  child- 
hood. What  I  do  mean  is  that  the  supervision  and  con- 
trol exercised  by  the  older  mind  over  the  younger  should  be 
as  unobstrusive  as  possible.  Herbert  Spencer  rejoiced  to 
see  the  decay  of  absolutism,  in  matters  political,  religious, 
and  educational.  In  his  advocacy  of  the  doctrine  of  the 
"  discipline  of  natural  consequences  "  in  the  moral  training 
of  the  child  he  made  some  extreme  applications  of  a  sound 
principle,  and  overlooked  some  essential  factors.  But  it 
remains  true  (and  nowhere  more  true  than  in  adolescence) 
that  all  arbitrariness  should  be  eliminated  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible out  of  our  educational  procedure.  For  if,  as  we  have 
said,  the  aim  of  education  is  to  give  the  pupil  the  mastery 
of  himself  and  of  the  environment,  in  the  interests  of  his 
own  fullest  self-realization,  then  in  the  process  of  education 
we  should  constantly  look  forward  to  the  day  of  his  com- 
plete emancipation  from  all  merely  arbitrary  authority. 
The  pressure  of  such  authority  should,  at  every  period  of 
life,  be  kept  at  the  lowest  point  compatible  with  proper 
discipline;  and  during  the  teens  it  should  fall  as  rapidly  as 
possible  towards  zero. 

From  the  intellectual  point  of  view  this  means  that  the 
youth  shall  be  encouraged  to  enquire,  investigate,  criticize, 
sift,  and  make  discoveries  for  himself,  in  the  realm  of  truth. 
The  zest  of  exploration,  stronger  now  than  ever  before, 


210    THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

should  not  be  held  in  check  more  than  is  absolutely  necessary. 
The  maturer  mind  should  not  now  define  truth  in  set  terms, 
for  acceptance  by  the  less  mature  mind,  but  should  go  with 
him  on  a  voyage  of  discovery  through  the  realm  of  truth. 

It  also  means,  not  that  studies  shall  be  made  easy  for  the 
pupil,  but  that  they  shall  be  taken  hold  of  by  the  right  end; 
that  they  shall  be  approached  by  the  most  natural  avenue. 
As  a  rule  the  natural  way  is  the  easiest  way,  and  there  is 
certainly  no  virtue  in  making  any  human  pursuit  harder 
than  it  needs  to  be,  since  every  human  pursuit  that  is  worth 
while  presents  quite  enough  of  difficulty  for  all  the  pur- 
poses of  educational  discipline.  But  the  question  of  ease 
or  difficulty  is  not  the  main  question.  The  spirit  of  youth 
does  not  cry  out  specially  for  ease.  It  is  apt  to  scorn  an 
easy  task,  and  to  love  the  strenuous  and  the  difficult.  But 
it  does  cry  out  for  permission  to  take  hold  of  things  by  the 
right  end;  which  means  beginning  with  that  particular  fea- 
ture or  aspect  of  any  subject  that  is  naturally  the  first  to 
attract  attention  and  awaken  interest.  Youth  is  impatient 
of  the  uninteresting,  almost  as  much  so  as  childhood;  but 
though  its  attention  must  be  aroused  through  interest,  yet 
its  interest  can  be  awakened  through  a  much  greater  variety 
of  channels  than  the  interest  of  childhood;  and  when  once 
secured,  is  more  nearly  self-sustaining  than  the  interest  of 
the  child  could  be. 

Much  has  been  said  and  written  on  the  necessity  of  pro- 
ceeding, in  education,  from  the  concrete  to  the  abstract,  from 
individual  cases  to  formal  definitions  and  universal  propo- 
sitions. This  means,  in  literature,  that  we  proceed  to  the 
grammar  through  the  literary  product;  in  mathematics,  that 
we  begin  with  numerable  and  measurable  objects,  and  pro- 
ceed thence  to  the  general  laws  of  number;  in  biology,  that 
living  organisms  are  the  starting  point,  and  the  general  laws 
of  life  the  goal;  in  geography,  that  the  child  should  have 
his  attention  directed  first  to  the  actual  features  of  the 
locality  in  which  he  lives,  and  proceed  from  this  to  wide 
generalizations  and  comprehensive  definitions;  in  history, 


THE  PEDAGOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE      211 

that  vivid  word  pictures  of  the  personalities  and  doings  of 
men  and  the  movements  of  nations  should  be  the  founda- 
tion on  which  to  build  towards  a  philosophy  of  history. 

Much  of  the  -success  of  modern  education  has  been  due 
to  the  clear  recognition  and  wide  adoption  of  this  principle. 
Its  most  obvious  application  is  in  the  realm  of  elementary 
education,  but  it  should  not  be  abandoned  with  the  transition 
from  childhood  to  youth.  It  should,  however,  be  balanced 
by  another  principle,  of  equal  importance,  namely,  that  the 
mind  should  not  be  expected  to  remain  forever  in  the  con- 
crete. Indeed,  it  may  be  that  the  emphasis  on  the  con- 
crete has  been  somewhat  overdone  in  our  day.  Apparently 
the  young  mind  is  assumed  to  be  incapable  of  abstract  con- 
ceptions. Objects,  pictures,  word  pictures,  moving  pictures, 
and  what  not,  are  continually  utilized,  with  the  purpose  of 
making  vivid  and  indelible  impressions  on  the  senses  and  the 
imagination,  and  incidentally,  it  would  seem,  to  spare  the 
pupil  the  labor  of  thinking.  But  if  this  process  is  carried 
to  such  a  length  as  to  render  the  mind  unfit  for  or  incap- 
able of  "  abstract "  thinking,  then  it  has  been  carried  too 
far. 

Man  is  a  rational  being.  It  is  precisely  in  his  rationality 
that  he  differentiates  himself  from  all  other  animals.  Now 
this  power  of  rational  insight,  which  is  his  distinctive  pre- 
rogative, should  receive  the  special  attention  of  the  edu- 
cator. And  I  take  it,  therefore,  as  axiomatic,  that  the 
concept-forming  capacity,  and  the  faculty  of  judgment, 
should  be  developed  as  rapidly  as  is  consistent  with  normal 
and  well-balanced  growth.  This  development  should  be- 
gin in  childhood,  where  every  story  and  every  object  lesson 
should  be  so  presented  as  not  only  to  impress  the  senses  and 
the  imagination,  but  also  to  arouse  the  mind  to  the  elemen- 
tary exercise  of  its  concept-forming  power. 

But  in  youth,  especially,  this  feature  of  the  mental  life 
should  receive  attention.  We  have  referred  with  almost 
wearisome  iteration  to  the  general  expansion  that  comes  to 
the  entire  being  in  this  period  of  life.  One  of  the  most 


212     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

striking  features  of  that  expansion  occurs  in  the  intellect,  as 
we  have  seen.  More  meat  and  less  milk  is  now  desired  in 
the  intellectual  diet.  The  mind  in  youth  is  eager  to  make 
these  excursions  into  obscure  and  difficult  regions,  and  there 
is  a  real  exultation  when  it  succeeds  in  achieving  some  subtle 
analysis  or  some  deep  synthesis  not  dreamed  of  in  child- 
hood. To  follow  the  natural  way  in  education  means,  then, 
not  merely  to  begin  with  concrete  living  wholes,  so  far  as 
possible,  but  also  to  encourage  the  young  intellect  in  its 
endeavors  to  find  the  abstract  in  the  concrete,  the  universal 
in  the  particular,  the  general  law  in  the  individual  instances. 

This  is  not  a  plea  for  the  merely  academic,  as  against  the 
practical,  in  education,  for  it  is  the  most  practical  of  sug- 
gestions, and  has  to  do  with  the  very  sources  of  efficient 
living.  We  are  reminded  daily  of  the  world's  great  need 
of  men  who  can  make  wide  generalizations  and  think  their 
way  into  the  heart  of  things,  seeing  the  universal  law  in 
the  particular  case.  Whence  come  failures  in  business, 
bungling  in  statecraft,  and  obscurantism  in  education  itself, 
but  from  the  lack  of  this  ability  to  "  think  one's  way  into 
the  heart  of  things  "  ? 

Another  general  principle  of  education  (widely  accepted 
now,  but  not  always  so)  is  that  every  possible  opportunity 
should  be  provided  the  pupil  for  making  the  acquaintance  of 
nature  herself,  in  the  largest  sense,  not  merely  at  second 
hand  through  objects,  pictures  and  stories,  but  at  first  hand. 
This,  too,  applies  to  all  periods  of  life,  but  is  specially  ap- 
plicable to  the  youth  period.  We  have  had  occasion  to  note 
how  in  youth  there  is  commonly  a  new  kind  of  interest  in 
nature  and  natural  objects  and  processes.  The  tendency 
is  to  regard  nature  in  a  sort  of  quasi-personal  light.  There 
is  a  feeling,  not  easy  to  put  into  words,  of  fellowship  with 
all  the  world  out-of-doors.  That  nature  as  a  whole  is 
the  embodiment  of  a  wise  and  beneficent  purpose  is  a  con- 
viction congenial  to  the  minds  of  the  young.  Little  children 
take  to  it  easily  and  naturally,  and  carry  it  as  far  as  their 
mental  powers  are  able  to  do.  Young  men  and  maidens 


THE  PEDAGOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE     213 

are  ready  to  carry  it  much  further,  and  will  do  so,  unless 
some  stumbling  block  in  the  way  of  fallacious  pedagogy  is 
placed  in  their  way. 

I  believe  that  there  are  few  things  that  do  more  to  pre- 
pare the  way  for  the  highest  religious  education  than  this 
free  and  spontaneous  acquaintance  with  nature.  That  na- 
ture is  inimical  to  grace,  and  that  in  order  to  be  genuinely 
religious  one's  gaze  must  be  continually  upward,  and  never 
outward,  is,  I  trust,  a  fallacy  long  since  exploded.  Material 
forms  and  natural  processes  constitute  a  perennial  mes- 
sage from  the  Infinite  to  the  finite  spirit,  and  the  supernatural 
pulsates  through  the  natural. 

Another  general  principle,  more  fundamental,  if  possible, 
than  the  last,  and  of  marked  applicability  in  adolescence,  is 
that  education  in  its  highest  sense  requires  the  contact  of 
personality  with  personality;  and,  as  a  corollary,  that  it  is 
more  important  for  boys  and  girls  to  come  into  daily  con- 
tact with  men  and  women  of  high  character  than  to  live  in 
the  most  affluent  homes,  or  to  attend  the  most  splendidly 
equipped  schools,  or  even  to  be  educated  according  to  the 
most  scientifically  constructed  curricula. 

We  have  had  occasion  more  than  once  to  refer  to  this 
matter  of  personal  influence.  It  obtrudes  itself  upon  the 
observer's  notice  at  every  turn.  It  is  the  subtlest  and  most 
potent  thing  in  the  world.  Its  importance  and  value  are 
well  recognized  in  reference  to  the  education  of  the  child; 
but  it  is  at  least  equally  potent  as  a  factor  in  the  education 
of  youth.  For  youth  is  capable  of  making  a  stronger  re- 
sponse than  is  possible  in  childhood  to  the  appeal  of  every 
personal  relationship.  The  simple,  naive  affection  of  a  little 
child  for  his  parents,  hardly  disconnected  with  his  own  com- 
fort and  pleasure,  becomes  filial  devotion  in  the  deeper  sense. 
All  the  other  personal  relationships  develop  in  a  similar  way, 
becoming  more  meaningful  as  childhood  gives  place  to  youth. 

In  that  part  of  the  educational  process  that  goes  on  in 
the  home,  it  is  beyond  question  that  the  personal  character 
of  the  parents  counts  for  more  than  anything  else.  Could 


214     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

the  atmosphere  of  every  home  be  exactly  what  it  ought,  all 
our  deepest  problems  in  education  would  be  reduced  to  com- 
paratively simple  dimensions. 

The  same  thing  is  true  of  the  school.  Let  a  really  great 
teacher  take  charge  of  a  school  full  of  boys  and  girls,  and 
give  him  a  little  time  in  which  to  make  his  personality  felt, 
and  then  observe  with  what  devotion  they  serve  him  and 
do  his  bidding,  with  what  adoration  they  look  up  to  him, 
with  what  sincere  unconscious  flattery  they  imitate  him, 
and  with  what  royal  hospitality  they  take  him  to  their 
hearts. 

Returns  such  as  those  published  by  Professor  King  1  are 
strikingly  significant  of  the  vast  power  of  personality  over 
personality  in  the  youth  period.  King's  material  consisted 
of  papers  written  by  high  school  boys  and  girls,  in  re- 
sponse to  the  request  to  state  the  things  that  impressed  them 
most,  or  by  which  they  were  the  most  deeply  influenced,  dur- 
ing their  high  school  career.  Many  things  are  mentioned 
in  these  papers;  books,  studies,  fellow-pupils,  surroundings; 
but  the  one  thing  that  never  fails  to  be  mentioned,  and 
which  usually  occupies  the  greater  part  of  the  paper,  is  the 
personal  influence  of  the  teacher.  Sometimes  it  is  a  teacher 
for  whom  the  pupil  entertains  a  strong  dislike,  to  whom 
reference  is  made.  Far  more  frequently  it  is  a  teacher  for 
whom  the  pupil  feels  strong  affection  or  esteem.  But  in 
every  case,  whether  for  better  or  for  worse,  whether  through 
liking  or  aversion,  the  influence  of  the  teacher  is  dwelt  upon, 
and  accentuated,  to  such  an  extent  as  to  practically  eclipse 
and  overshadow  every  other  single  force,  and  in  many 
cases,  all  other  forces  combined. 

As  one  goes  over  these  papers  the  conviction  grows 
stronger  and  stronger,  that  personality  as  a  factor  in  educa- 
tion, much  as  has  been  written  upon  it,  has  not  even  yet 
received  the  emphasis  it  deserves.  It  would  almost  seem 
as  though  the  one  educational  problem  that  overshadows  all 
others  is  the  problem  of  bringing  it  to  pass  that  the  in- 
king, The  High  School  Age,  New  York,  1914,  Ch.  IX. 


THE  PEDAGOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE      215 

fluence  of  personality,  as  it  bears  upon  the  individual,  shall 
be  everywhere  of  the  highest  possible  type,  at  every  stage 
of  his  development. 

This  has  also  its  tragic  and  pathetic  side.  For  this  hero- 
worship  on  the  part  of  youth  is  not  always  the  most  dis- 
criminating. He  pours  out  his  affection  and  loyalty,  some- 
times on  persons  who  are  not  altogether  worthy  of  them. 
Or  it  sometimes  happens  that  the  object  of  this  devotion  re- 
veals, at  a  later  day,  elements  of  moral  littleness  or  perver- 
sity that  did  not  at  first  appear.  The  result  is  sometimes 
deplorable.  One  case  comes  to  mind,  in  which  a  young  man 
found  his  moral  order  fairly  tumbling  in  ruins  about  him, 
because  certain  men,  to  whom  he  had  looked  up  as  models, 
proved  unworthy,  turning  out  to  be  weak  where  he  had 
supposed  them  strong.  One,  who  occupied  a  place  of  great 
responsibility  and  privilege,  gave  way  to  unchastity;  an- 
other was  guilty  of  a  base  piece  of  trickery  in  order  to  se- 
cure a  monetary  advantage;  a  third  showed  himself  exceed- 
ingly vindictive  towards  the  perpetrator  of  a  fancied  wrong. 
If  these  mighty  ones  could  fall  so  utterly,  where  should  he 
look  for  honor  and  faith  and  integrity  in  the  world?  For 
some  time  there  was  a  real  danger  that  he  might  renounce 
his  faith  in  man  altogether,  and,  what  was  worse,  in  the  God 
whom  these  men  had  pretended  to  serve. 

Turning  now  from  these  general  principles  of  adolescent 
education  to  the  more  specific  areas  of  their  application,  let 
us  begin  with  its  physical  aspects.  And  here  the  first  essen- 
tial is  health  and  vigor.  Unless  our  boys  and  girls  can 
be  "  good  animals,"  they  cannot  be  much  else.  And  so, 
during  these  years  of  rapid  growth  there  should  be  plenty 
of  nutrition,  sleep,  fresh  air  and  sunshine,  with  every  pos- 
sible freedom  of  muscular  movement.  Senseless  fashions 
in  dress,  that  impede  such  freedom  of  movement,  should 
be  prohibited.  Personal  cleanliness,  inculcated  from  the 
earliest  childhood,  should  by  this  time  have  become  a  fixed 
and  settled  habit. 

Another  means  to  physical  as  well  as  mental  and  moral 


216     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

soundness  and  efficiency,  is  to  be  found  in  the  discipline  of 
work  and  play.  These  are  both  important,  and  they  should 
alternate  in  due  proportion.  Play,  though  preeminently  a 
childish  occupation,  decreasing  as  the  years  increase,  should 
never  be  entirely  discontinued.  In  youth  it  is  essential  to 
the  highest  development.  And  in  youth  it  should,  to  a 
large  degree,  take  the  form  of  contest  and  competition  be- 
tween social  units,  such  as  the  club  or  the  athletic  team.  For 
the  development  of  the  social  consciousness  is  just  at  that 
stage  when  its  healthy  maturing  should  be  facilitated  by  all 
proper  means.  Among  those  proper  means  "  team  play  " 
is  one  of  the  most  important.  Few  things  are  better  fitted 
than  this  to  give  self-control,  consideration  of  others,  quick- 
ness in  responding  to  any  given  situation  by  the  most  suit- 
able reaction,  and  a  healthful  balance  between  egoism  and 
altruism,  which  is  one  of  the  highest  educational  desiderata. 

All  good  things,  of  course,  can  be  abused,  and  team  play 
may  be  so  carried  on  as  to  militate  against  the  true  social 
spirit.  If  the  interests  of  the  team  are  placed  above  the 
interests  of  clean  sport,  so  that  moral  principles  are  sacri- 
ficed for  the  sake  of  victory,  then  team  play  is  abused;  in 
exactly  the  same  way  as  politics  is  abused  whenever  party 
is  placed  above  country,  and  religion  is  abused  when  the  in- 
terests of  some  sect  is  placed  above  the  interests  of  the 
kingdom  of  God. 

But  work  as  well  as  play  is  essential  to  education.  And  in 
the  days  of  youth  there  should  be  a  good  deal  (but  not  too 
much)  of  genuine  hard  work,  requiring  application,  diligence, 
and  real  effort;  not  so  much  in  the  interests  of  the  work  it- 
self, as  in  the  interests  of  the  boy  or  girl  by  whom  it  is  per- 
formed. As  play  aims  at  immediate  ends,  which  are  in- 
trinsically interesting,  and  so  the  sense  of  effort  is  largely 
swallowed  up  in  the  pleasurable  excitement,  work  usually 
aims  at  ends  that  are  more  remote  and  less  intrinsically  in- 
teresting; and  it,  therefore,  calls  for  greater  conscious  effort, 
and  so  develops  the  capacity  for  diligent  application  and 


THE  PEDAGOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE      217 

strenuous  effort  of  will,  in  defiance  of  every  outward  ob- 
stacle and  every  inward  disinclination. 

The  question  of  the  relation  between  work  and  play  has 
been  much  discussed,  and  some  rather  elaborate  formulae 
have  been  propounded  to  set  forth  that  relation.  It  would 
not  be  surprising  if  it  turned  out  that  in  the  last  analysis 
no  clear  line  of  distinction  can  be  drawn  between  the  two; 
and  that  such  difference  as  exists  is  one  of  degree,  depending 
on  the  quantity  and  quality  of  the  interests  involved.  It  is, 
therefore,  not  inconceivable  that  in  an  ideal  social  order,  in 
which  all  labor  is  performed  under  the  most  favorable  con- 
ditions; in  which  each  individual  does  the  work  for  which 
he  is  best  adapted,  and  receives  the  sort  of  preparation  that 
will  fit  him  in  the  highest  degree  for  that  work;  all  would 
put  into  their  work  the  same  zest  as  they  put  into  their  play. 
In  such  an  ideal  state  of  things  work  would  shade  off  into 
play,  and  play  into  work,  by  imperceptible  degrees.  This 
condition,  whether  it  is  ever  realized  or  no,  should  at  all 
events  be  the  educational  as  well  as  the  legislative  ideal. 

Education,  whether  theoretical  or  practical,  can  hardly 
bestow  too  much  attention  on  the  native  instincts,  and  their 
issuance  in  the  form  of  habits.  These  instincts  in  them- 
selves, though  highly  useful,  are  neither  good  nor  bad,  but 
their  issue  in  habits  may  be  either  the  one  or  the  other.  The 
problem  of  the  educator,  then,  at  this  point,  is  the  utilization 
of  instinct,  its  development,  and  maybe  its  modification 
through  training  and  habit-formation.  Take  as  an  example 
the  self-instincts.  Under  favorable  conditions  the  native 
instinct  of  self-preservation  should  unfold  into  a  settled  habit 
of  planning  and  working  for  the  best  interests  of  the  individ- 
ual, having  a  view  to  property,  position,  social  relations,  and 
everything  that  bears  upon  the  individual  well-being  through- 
out life.  The  instinctive  self-sensitiveness  of  early  adoles- 
cence, which  scarcely  understands  itself,  and  cannot  tell 
whence  it  comes  and  whither  it  goes,  should  develop,  under 
proper  educational  conditions,  into  the  dignified  self-respect 


2i 8     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

of  mature  years,  which  "  feels  a  stain  like  a  wound,"  abhors 
every  form  of  personal  vulgarity  or  dishonor,  disdains  to 
barter  personal  integrity  for  material  gain,  and  becomes 
consciously  imbued  with  an  ideal  of  personal  attainment  and 
achievement  which  is  the  incentive  to  all  worthy  effort.  It 
is  the  business  of  education  to  guide  this  development  and 
determine  jts  main  direction. 

It  will  be  fairly  clear,  from  all  our  previous  discussion, 
that  education,  from  the  standpoint  of  the  cognitive  facul- 
ties, will  aim  at  the  broadest  and  most  fruitful  culture  of 
the  rational  mind,  not  merely  for  its  own  sake,  but  with  a 
view  to  the  proper  control  and  direction  of  the  whole  inner 
life  by  rational  insight.  Whatever  distinction  and  pre- 
eminence belongs  to  man  among  the  animals,  is  due,  no 
doubt,  to  the  larger  part  played  by  the  intelligence  in  the 
determination  of  his  behavior,  as  compared  with  theirs; 
and  whatever  distinction  and  preeminence  belongs  to  cer- 
tain races  of  men,  and  certain  types  of  culture,  is  due  to 
the  same  cause.  The  function  of  reason  in  the  life  of  man 
is  not  to  destroy  and  supersede  the  affective  and  instinctive 
powers,  but  to  control  and  develop  them.  And  the  aim  of 
the  school  should  be,  not  to  develop  the  intelligence  of  the 
pupil  at  the  expense  of  his  feelings  and  instincts,  but  to  de- 
velop all  the  powers  of  his  being,  by  means  of  the  intelli- 
gence, and  under  its  guidance  and  control.  The  ideal  pro- 
duct of  education  is  the  man  whose  behavior  is  constantly 
determined  by  the  highest  principles  of  intelligence,  but  in 
whom  that  determination  has  become  so  habitual  as  to  be, 
on  each  occasion,  direct,  spontaneous,  free;  not  labored,  not 
requiring  special  reflection,  nor  any  special  effort,  but  bear- 
ing all  the  marks  of  a  direct,  instinctive  response  to  the  con- 
ditions present  at  the  moment. 

Applying  the  general  principles  of  pedagogy  laid  down  in 
the  early  part  of  this  chapter  to  the  matter  of  aesthetic  cul- 
ture, it  seems  to  me  desirable  above  all  things  that  the  pupil 
should  begin  in  some  such  way  as  the  boy  referred  to  in 
Chapter  XI  began  his  study  of  architectural  beauty.  The 


THE  PEDAGOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE      219 

first  thing  in  this  case  was  actual  contact  with  the  thing  that 
was  beautiful;  and  then  the  thrill  of  emotional  response 
thereto.  This  aroused  the  boy  to  an  intellectual  interest 
that  spurred  him  on  to  the  most  eager  and  enthusiastic  pur- 
suit of  the  subject,  for  the  pure  joy  of  it.  This  is  the  very 
quintessence  of  a  "  liberal  education  "  in  the  best  sense;  and 
in  this  manner,  it  seems  to  me,  all  aesthetic  education  should 
begin,  so  far  as  possible,  and,  for  that  matter,  all  other  edu- 
cation too.  Specialization  belongs  not  to  the  teens;  or,  if 
that  is  too  sweeping  a  statement,  we  may  at  least  maintain 
that  specialization  should  not  begin  until  near  the  close  of 
the  period.  If  these  precious  years  of  youth  can  be  kept 
sacred  to  a  broad,  all-round  culture,  that  dwarfs  no  one 
power  in  the  interests  of  another,  but  conserves  and  de- 
velops every  phase  and  facet  of  character,  we  shall  perhaps 
save  something  yet  from  the  all-devouring  utilitarianism  of 
the  age  in  which  we  live.  And  the  postponement  of  speciali- 
zation, thereby  involved,  will  turn  out  to  be,  in  the  long  run, 
no  loss  at  all,  but  a  great  gain,  even  in  the  interests  of  ex- 
pertness  and  efficiency  itself.  Could  we  but  devise  some 
way  by  which  the  great  subjects  of  the  curriculum  could  be 
approached  from  an  angle  like  that  from  which  the  boy  re- 
ferred to  approached  the  subject  of  architecture,  it  might  be 
possible  to  find  that  educational  values  and  individual  inter- 
ests would  lie  in  the  same  direction,  and  not  in  opposite  direc- 
tions, as  is  too  often  the  case. 

In  moral  education  we  have,  in  a  very  profound  sense, 
the  touchstone  and  the  end  of  all  other  education  whatever. 
For  all  values,  in  the  last  analysis,  rest  on  ethical  criteria; 
and  all  judgments  of  value  must  finally  justify  themselves 
on  ethical  grounds.  The  culture  of  the  intellect  is  empha- 
sized in  preceding  remarks,  not  because  knowledge  has  an 
absolute  value  in  itself,  but  because  it  has  a  value  which 
ultimately  is  to  be  stated  only  in  ethical  terms.  The  ethical 
end  is  intellectual,  emotional  and  volitional,  and  the  ethical 
end  is  identical  with  the  educational  end. 

It  follows  that  the  aim  of  all  education,  as  I  conceive 


220     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

it,  has  been  the  real  topic  throughout  the  foregoing  chapters; 
and  to  state  again  the  purpose  of  moral  education  would  be 
a  needless  repetition.  For  the  same  reason  the  general 
principles  of  all  education,  dwelt  upon  at  the  beginning  of 
this  chapter,  are  specially  and  peculiarly  ethical  in  their 
bearings  and  significance.  The  development  of  personality, 
or  will  (defined,  after  the  manner  of  Kant,  as  the  Practical 
Reason,  or  reason  as  controlling  conduct  in  reference  to 
Moral  Law)  to  its  highest  possible  condition  of  efficiency, 
must  be  the  great  pedagogical  aim;  but  properly  under- 
stood, it  comprises  and  includes  all  culture  whatever,  of 
body  and  brain,  of  feeling  and  taste,  of  intellect  and  voli- 
tion. So  conceived,  the  ultimate  aim  of  all  education  is 
moral  and  spiritual. 

In  a  more  specific  sense,  however,  moral  education  is 
thought  of  as  having  in  view  the  right  and  the  wrong  in 
conduct,  and  the  training  of  the  child  in  reference  thereto. 
The  element  of  training  here,  as  distinct  from  teaching,  be- 
comes relatively  prominent,  and  moral  education  looks  to 
the  formation  of  good  habits  as  well  as  clear  insight.  And 
in  this  connection  there  are  one  or  two  guiding  principles 
that  seem  to  me  especially  worthy  of  consideration. 

One  of  these  has  to  do  with  the  question  as  to  how  far, 
if  at  all,  an  appeal  should  be  made,  in  moral  training,  to 
the  reasoning  power  of  the  child.  There  are  some  eminent 
educators  who  take  the  view  that  children  should  not  be 
reasoned  with,  but  made  to  obey  without  question,  the  com- 
mands of  their  superiors;  that  even  in  later  childhood  and  in 
youth,  implicit,  unreasoned  obedience  should  be  demanded 
and  exacted.  This  position  is  taken,  we  may  presume,  on 
the  ground  that  reverence  for  authority,  and  respect  for 
superiors,  are  essential  qualities  in  moral  character;  and  that, 
if  these  are  not  acquired  in  childhood  and  youth,  it  will  be 
impossible  afterwards  to  build  up  moral  character  or  to  re- 
alize that  self-control  which  is  one  of  its  most  essential  com- 
ponents. 

In  spite  of  the  eminence  of  some  of  its  advocates,  I  am 


THE  PEDAGOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE     221 

not  able  to  convince  myself  of  the  soundness  of-  this  doc- 
trine. There  is  no  doubt,  of  course,  of  the  necessity  of 
obedience  on  the  part  of  the  child.  The  habit  of  obedience 
to  all  properly  constituted  authority  is  essential  to  any  decent 
social  order,  and  one  of  the  conditions  of  the  realization  of 
complete  moral  character.  But,  conceding  all  this,  it  still 
remains  true  that  man  is  a  rational  being,  intended  for 
self-control  and  self-direction;  whose  behavior,  normally 
and  usually,  should  be  autonomous;  whose  will  should  be 
the  executive  of  his  own  judgment  and  not  of  that  of  an- 
other. If  the  one  single  principle  of  moral  education,  as 
Thistleton  Mark  says,  is  to  put  the  scholar  in  possession 
of  his  own  will,  and  make  him  the  charioteer  of  his  own 
soul,1  then  that  process  should  begin  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment  in  his  education.  If  the  aim  of  education  is  rational 
self-direction,  then  at  every  stage  in  the  process  of  education 
the  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  that  rational  self-direction 
should  be  provided. 

My  conviction,  therefore,  is,  that  in  the  entire  process  of 
education  from  beginning  to  end,  we  should  aim  at  a  maxi- 
mum of  reasoned  and  deliberate  and  free  action,  and  at  a 
minimum  of  implicit  and  unquestioning  obedience  to  author- 
ity. In  other  words,  I  would  leave  no  means  untried  of  en- 
abling even  the  youngest  child  to  understand  the  reason  and 
the  purpose  of  my  commands,  and  so  to  render  to  them 
free  and  intelligent,  rather  than  constrained  and  unintelli- 
gent obedience.  Mechanical  obedience  should  be  required 
only  where  reasoned  obedience  is  in  the  nature  of  the  case 
impossible.  And  even  this  that  I  have  called  mechanical 
obedience  should  be  reasoned  at  least  to  this  extent,  that  the 
child  should  be  led  to  understand  why  he  cannot  understand 
the  reason  of  the  command  in  this  case,  and  also  to  under- 
stand why  he  may  trust  the  judgment  of  the  parent  or 
teacher,  and  yield  himself  to  that  for  the  time  being.  Obe- 
dience wrought  out  along  these  lines,  is  at  the  foundation  of 
much  that  is  most  valuable,  both  in  morals  and  religion. 

1  Mark,  The  Unfolding  of  Personality,  Chicago,  1915. 


222     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

It  seems  appropriate  at  this  point  to  emphasize  the  im- 
portance of  avoiding  with  the  utmost  care  all  such  treat- 
ment of  children  as  leaves  behind  it  a  sense  of  injustice 
rankling  in  their  minds,  whether  warranted  or  unwarranted 
in  strict  logic.  Too  often  the  superior  strength  or  the 
official  authority  of  older  persons  is  used  to  shut  off  all  argu- 
ment in  advance,  and  the  child  is  forced  to  accept  in  silence 
what  seems  to  him  a  false  statement  of  the  case.  There  are 
few  things  more  detrimental  to  the  disposition,  the  temper, 
and  the  whole  character  of  the  child,  than  this.  Many 
parents  who  would  not  resort  to  corporal  punishment  under 
any  circumstances,  do  nevertheless  inflict  this  wrong  upon 
their  children,  of  refusing  to  listen  to  any  statement  from 
the  child,  or  permit  any  discussion  from  the  child's  point 
of  view.  Corporal  punishment  may  in  some  cases  do  good; 
but  this  sort  of  treatment  can  never  do  aught  but  harm. 

On  another  point  also  I  find  myself  compelled  to  take  a 
different  view  from  that  expressed  by  some  eminent  author- 
ities in  education.  It  is  sometimes  maintained,  with  special 
reference  to  moral  training,  that  a  certain  amount  of  early 
acquaintance  with  vice  is  a  prophylactic  against  vice;  that 
general  badness  of  character  can  be  forestalled  and  pre- 
vented if  boys  of  ten  or  twelve  (no  one,  so  far  as  I  know, 
has  ventured  to  apply  the  prescription  to  girls)  are  permitted 
to  cultivate  a  practical  acquaintance  with  various  forms  of 
badness. 

This  belief  rests  on  an  assumption  of  the  baldest  and 
most  unsupported  kind;  namely,  that  early  experience  of 
general  wickedness  acts  as  a  sort  of  inoculation  against 
more  serious  wickedness  later  on,  or  as  a  kind  of  purge  or 
cathartic,  that  cleanses  the  soul  of  its  evil  propensities,  and 
enables  the  adolescent  to  begin  in  a  condition  of  immunity 
against  moral  evil.  This  conclusion  seems  to  be  based  on 
the  analogy  of  physical  ailments,  such  as  mumps  and  measles, 
which  are  not  supposed  to  strike  more  than  once  in  the  same 
place.  Many  an  ignorant  mother  has  deliberately  exposed 
her  child  to  physical  contagion,  in  the  hope  that,  by  having 


THE  PEDAGOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE      223 

the  disease  now,  he  will  be  free  from  all  danger  of  contract- 
ing it  for  the  remainder  of  his  life.  Whatever  one  may 
say  or  think  of  the  conduct  of  these  mothers,  the  folly  of 
exposing  childhood  to  moral  contagion,  on  the  assumption 
that  by  so  doing  it  may  be  rendered  immune  to  moral  evil, 
is  too  colossal  for  description.  Unfortunately,  the  fact  is 
that  familiarity  with  evil  does  not  strengthen  the  soul  against 
evil,  but  usually  has  the  very  opposite  effect.  That  a  child 
who  has  been  allowed  to  get  a  taste  of  ruffianism  in  his 
own  experience,  who  has  "  sown  his  wild  oats,"  and  made 
a  little  blackguard  of  himself  for  two  or  three  years,  stands 
a  better  chance  of  growing  up  to  be  a  respectable  and  useful 
citizen  than  he  otherwise  would,  is  a  theory  that  has  no 
facts  to  support  it.  It  rests  with  one  foot  on  a  purely  fanci- 
ful analogy  between  physical  and  moral  disorders,  and  with 
the  other  on  an  analogy,  almost  as  fanciful,  between  the 
stages  of  development  in  the  individual  and  those  in  the  race. 
Even  supposing  it  to  be  true  that  our  race  has,  in  its  onward 
progress,  passed  through  various  stages  of  development, 
and  that  one  of  these  stages  was  markedly  violent  and  preda- 
tory, it  seems  to  be  a  pure  assumption,  devoid  of  the  slight- 
est ground,  that  every  individual  of  the  race  must  of  neces- 
sity pass  through  these  same  stages,  including  the  predatory 
one. 

Though  I  believe  this  doctrine  to  be  profoundly  untrue, 
yet  it  may  provide  occasion  for  the  remark  that  undue 
sheltering  of  the  child  sometimes  is  followed  by  a  rebound, 
when  the  restraints  of  authority  are  removed,  to  the  opposite 
extreme  of  moral  license.  But  this  only  goes  to  prove  the 
evil  of  arbitrary  and  cast-iron  domination,  in  the  child's 
moral  life;  and  it  does  not  provide  any  argument  whatever 
for  the  opposite  extreme.  Both  extremes  are  evil  in  their 
effects;  the  true  middle  way  is  that  of  fair  and  reasonable 
protection  from  moral  contamination,  not  carried  to  the 
length  of  depriving  the  child  of  the  opportunity  of  develop- 
ing self-control  and  mastery  through  the  exercise  of  his  own 
will  power.  One  takes  the  hand  of  his  child  when  about  to 


224    THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

cross  over  a  very  dangerous  piece  of  road,  and  yet  one  does 
not  carry  him  over  all  slippery  places;  to  do  this  would  be 
to  keep  him  a  child  forever.  In  moral  training  the  same 
discretion  should  be  observed,  and  similar  avoidance  of  a 
reckless  laissez  faire  method  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  fussy, 
meddling,  over-paternal,  despotic  moral  discipline  on  the 
other. 

We  come  now  to  a  question  that  is  attracting  much  atten- 
tion at  the  present  time;  the  question,  namely  of  the  educa- 
tion of  the  young  in  matters  of  sex.  Attention  has  already 
been  called  to  the  wide  divergence  of  views  as  to  the  advisa- 
bility of  giving  instruction  on  this  subject;  and  even  where 
that  question  is  answered  affirmatively,  there  is  still  much 
difference  of  opinion  as  to  when  such  instruction  should 
begin,  of  what  it  should  consist,  how  it  should  be  carried  on, 
and  by  whom  it  should  be  imparted. 

The  broad  general  question  may,  without  hesitation,  be 
answered  affirmatively.  For  man  is  a  rational  being,  ob- 
viously intended  to  exercise  control,  through  his  reason,  over 
the  forces  without  and  the  forces  within.  As  though  in 
recognition  of  his  superior  equipment  in  this  respect,  he  has 
been  left  less  perfectly  provided  for  by  nature  in  many  other 
respects  than  the  lower  animals.  Nature  provides  them, 
for  example,  with  clothing,  ready  made;  whereas  he,  left  un- 
clothed by  nature,  is  equipped  with  an  intelligence  through 
which  he  can  devise  clothing  for  himself. 

Similarly,  both  he  and  they  are  endowed  with  the  sex 
instinct,  and  in  both  the  sex  passion  develops  into  great 
strength.  And  yet  there  are  in  the  animal,  along  with  this 
powerful  appetite,  certain  conditions  that  operate  to  pre- 
vent its  abuse  and  make  detrimental  excesses  to  a  large  ex- 
tent impossible.  These  natural  safeguards  do  not  exist  to 
the  same  extent  in  man;  which  is  itself  a  hint  that  in  his  case 
intelligence  is  the  rightful  guardian  of  morality.  But  ra- 
tional guardianship  is  impossible  without  rational  insight; 
and  if  man  is  to  control  the  situation,  he  must  understand 


THE  PEDAGOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE     225 

what  the  situation  is.  If  he  is  to  be  master  of  himself,  he 
must  know  himself. 

Not  only  as  a  deduction  from  general  principles,  but  as 
an  induction  from  observed  facts,  this  proposition  holds. 
A  vast  amount  of  moral  waste  has  occurred  in  this  connex- 
ion, through  ignorance.  Many  pitiful  tales  could  be  told 
of  moral  and  physical  ruin  that  might  have  been  entirely 
prevented  through  education  in  these  matters. 

But  when  we  have  answered  this  general  question  in  the 
affirmative,  we  are  still  a  long  way  from  having  answered 
satisfactorily  the  other,  more  specific  questions.  Enormous 
difficulties  are  in  the  way,  and  become  apparent  as  soon  as 
the  practical  questions  are  fairly  faced. 

Nor  can  these  questions  be  answered  independently  of 
one  another.  Granting  that  the  young  should  be  educated 
in  sex  matters,  when  should  that  education  begin?  That 
depends  on  what  is  to  be  understood  as  "  education  in  sex 
matters."  If  it  means  information  concerning  the  special 
processes  by  which  human  reproduction  is  brought  about; 
and  especially  if  it  includes  any  description  of  the  feelings 
and  passions  aroused,  then  it  certainly  has  no  place  in  child- 
hood at  all  events.  For  such  information  is  of  no  interest 
to  the  child,  serves  no  good  purpose,  and  is  heavy-laden 
with  possibilities  of  evil. 

But  if  the  phrase  "  education  in  sex  matters  "  be  under- 
stood in  a  large,  biological  sense,  and  approached,  not 
merely  by  way  of  the  human  family,  but  by  way  of  all  re- 
production in  animal  and  plant  life,  then  it  can  hardly  begin 
too  early.  There  is  no  single  fact  more  obvious  all  through 
nature  than  the  fact  that  the  beginning  of  life  requires 
duality  in  parentage.  It  thrusts  itself  upon  the  child's  at- 
tention. First  of  all  in  his  own  home.  Fatherhood  and 
motherhood  are  the  earliest  of  his  experiences;  that  he  has 
a  father  and  a  mother  is  almost  his  first  bit  of  acquired 
knowledge.  Broadening  out  from  this  he  discovers  that 
other  homes  are  like  his  in  this  respect;  there,  too,  is  a 


father  and  a  mother.  After  allowing  for  any  special  cases 
that  may  appear  on  the  surface  to  be  exceptional,  the  broad 
fact  remains,  and  is  impressed  on  the  child's  mind  at  every 
turn,  that  marriage  is  the  condition  upon  which  the  exist- 
ence of  children  depends.  Or,  as  an  innocent  child  of  six 
once  said  to  me,  entirely  of  her  own  accord,  and  apropos 
of  nothing  in  the  conversation,  "  You  can't  have  children 
unless  you're  married  ";  a  scientific  conclusion,  one  may  call 
it,  which  she  had  arrived  at  through  her  own  independent 
observation.  With  this  broad  biological  generalization  sex 
education  should  begin. 

Thus  the  home  and  the  family  provide  the  starting  point 
for  the  child  in  all  his  knowledge  of  these  matters.  So 
far  as  pedagogy  is  concerned,  the  duality  of  parentage  may 
be  simply  used,  as  a  fact  already  familiar  to  the  child,  ex- 
tended somewhat,  and  applied  in  the  inculcation  of  many 
of  the  finer  virtues,  such  as  kindness,  love,  helpfulness,  filial 
devotion,  sympathy;  and  to  some  extent  in  bringing  home 
to  girls  the  more  specially  feminine  virtues,  and  to  boys  the 
more  masculine  ones.  Thus  far  we  are  on  very  safe  ground; 
for  there  is  in  all  this  none  but  the  purest  and  best  sugges- 
tions, and  the  facts  used  are  such  as  every  child  must  and 
will  become  cognizant  of,  whether  his  attention  is  called  to 
them  or  not. 

The  same  fact  —  duality  of  parentage  —  in  its  less  ob- 
vious and  more  recondite  forms  among  the  flora  and  fauna, 
may  usually  be  best  taught  in  the  high  school  age,  or  in  the 
upper  years  of  the  public  school  age,  when  boys  and  girls 
enter  on  the  study  of  natural  science.  They  will  now  dis- 
cover that  reproduction  requires,  in  this  realm  also,  the  con- 
joint operation  of  "  male  "  and  "  female  "  elements.  Full 
knowledge  of  plant  forms  cannot  be  imparted  without  in- 
cluding this  fact;  and  here  again  there  is  no  good  reason 
why  any  evil  results  should  follow  such  instruction. 

Before  touching  on  the  question  of  giving  more  definite  in- 
struction later  on,  touching  human  reproduction  and  its 
means  and  instruments  than  is  involved  in  this  broad  biolo- 


THE  PEDAGOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE      217 

gical  treatment,  let  me  point  out  that  sex  education  means 
not  only  instruction,  but  training;  and  so  has  to  do  with  de- 
sire, habit,  and  will,  as  well  as  intellect.  So  many  pitfalls 
lie  hard  by  this  special  realm  of  knowledge,  that  no  means 
should  be  neglected  of  instilling  into  the  mind  of  the  child, 
from  the  earliest  age,  the  purest  ideas,  and  of  training  his 
will  to  the  most  wholesome  habits.  And  this  can  be  done 
without  any  direct  reference  to  sex  matters,  and  without 
in  any  way  directing  the  child's  attention  to  these  things. 
That  every  part  of  the  body  should  be  cared  for,  kept 
clean,  and  used  only  for  its  normal  and  proper  functions; 
that  the  whole  body  should  be  kept  as  strong  and  vigorous 
as  possible;  that  any  abuse  of  any  part  of  the  body  should 
be  regarded  as  a  sin;  this  can  be  directly  taught.  Then 
again  by  less  direct  means  the  child's  mind  can  be  trained 
to  habits  of  wholesome  ideation.  If  his  social  environment 
is  free  from  every  trace  of  obscene  suggestion,  early  habits 
of  refined  thinking  will  be  acquired,  which  will  prove  a 
source  of  strength  to  the  end  of  life.  This  positive  factor 
(consisting  of  the  general  suggestions  of  a  morally  whole- 
some environment)  is  of  infinitely  greater  value  than  the 
negative  factor  (consisting  of  sundry  taboos,  prohibitions, 
and  suppressions,  of  what  is  regarded  as  undesirable).  It 
may  be  taken  as  an  axiom  of  all  moral  education  that  pro- 
hibition of  what  is  bad  should  never  be  resorted  to  where 
it  is  possible  to  meet  the  situation  by  suggestion  of  what  is 
good. 

Among  these  positive  suggestions  of  a  wholesome  en- 
vironment (conveyed  by  example  rather  than  precept)  are 
the  dignity  of  human  personality,  and  the  respect  that  is  due 
to  it  everywhere,  in  the  child's  own  person,  as  well  as  in 
the  persons  of  others;  the  especial  regard  and  consideration 
due  to  womanhood  as  such,  first  and  chiefly  to  the  child's  own 
mother,  and,  secondarily,  to  all  other  women;  the  avoidance 
of  all  undue  familiarity,  as  well  as  of  lavish  emotional  in- 
dulgence; and  whatever  tends  to  take  the  reins  out  of  the 
hands  of  intelligence  and  put  them  into  the  hands  of  passion; 


228     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

and,  finally,  the  habit  of  reserve  and  personal  reticence,  es- 
pecially on  matters  touching  the  inner  life  of  feeling  and 
desire. 

I  do  not  wish  this  last  remark  to  be  misunderstood.  It 
is  not  meant  that  the  inner  life  of  the  boy  or  girl  should 
be  wholly  a  sealed  book  to  all  other  persons.  On  the  con- 
trary, there  is  perhaps  no  other  time  in  the  whole  life  when 
the  individual  so  much  needs  a  confidant,  and  when  he  is 
so  likely  to  profit  from  the  right  sort  of  counsel.  But  that 
counsel  must  be  of  the  right  sort,  and  that  confidant  must 
be  the  right  sort  of  person,  if  the  loss  is  not  to  exceed  the 
gain.  No  more  sacred  and  responsible  task  ever  fell  to 
any  man  or  woman  than  this,  and  I  should  think  that  no- 
where would  the  penalty  of  failure  or  indiscretion  be  greater 
than  at  this  point. 

What  I  am  concerned  to  insist  upon  is  this,  that  there 
is  a  certain  reserve  and  native  modesty,  implanted  in  every 
normal  boy  and  girl,  which,  it  is  my  firm  conviction,  is  by 
far  the  most  powerful  ally  of  the  intelligence  itself  in  pro- 
tecting the  interests  of  individual  character  in  the  days  of 
childhood  and  youth;  and  that  anything  tending  to  break 
it  down  or  supersede  it,  would  entail  moral  loss  for  which 
there  could  be  no  conceivable  compensation.  And,  there- 
fore, he  who  would  undertake  to  instruct  young  persons  in 
sex  matters  should  be  required  to  furnish  guarantees  in  ad- 
vance, of  his  ability  to  give  such  instruction  without  under- 
mining or  destroying  this  native  modesty  of  the  child's 
being.  Otherwise  his  work,  instead  of  being  beneficial,  is 
deleterious  to  the  last  degree,  and  in  respect  of  the  actual 
harm  done,  he  is  to  be  ranked  among  the  lowest  criminals. 
Much  adverse  comment  has  been  made  on  the  failure  of 
parents  to  give  instruction  on  these  matters  to  their  sons 
and  daughters;  and  there  is  little  doubt  that  under  ideal 
conditions  this  instruction  would  be  given,  as  it  certainly 
should  be  given,  by  fathers  and  mothers  everywhere;  and 
yet,  when  one  considers  the  delicacy  of  the  task,  and  the 
vast  possibilities  of  evil  where  the  work  is  done  in  the 


THE  PEDAGOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE     229 

wrong  way,  one  cannot  help  feeling  deep  sympathy  with 
those  fathers  and  mothers  who  shrink  from  it. 

And  yet,  in  regard  to  this  matter,  and  especially  in  regard 
to  those  more  personal  and  emotional  aspects  of  it  which 
are  certain  to  come  to  the  fore  in  adolescence,  it  seems  to 
me  difficult  to  find  a  really  good  substitute  for  the  parent. 
It  is  scarcely  less  than  a  tragedy  that  any  boy  or  girl,  per- 
plexed and,  it  may  be,  distressed,  at  the  new  phenomena 
that  are  showing  themselves  in  the  psycho-physical  organism, 
should  not  feel  free  to  ask  his  parents  for  counsel  in  regard 
thereto,  but  should  betake  himself  to  other  advisors.  The 
tragic  feature  of  it  is  just  this,  that  some  outside  party 
should  succeed  in  winning  the  confidence  of  the  child,  where 
his  own  parents  have  failed,  and  that  he  should  reveal  the 
secrets  of  his  heart  to  others  and  keep  them  hidden  from 
his  father  and  mother.  Where  the  opposite  conditions  ob- 
tain, and  the  child  goes  to  his  parents  for  counsel  on  all 
matters,  with  perfect  naturalness  and  spontaneity,  because 
he  has  always  been  encouraged  so  to  do,  we  hear  little 
or  nothing  of  moral  disasters  resulting  from  ignorance, 
or  of  evil  habits  formed  through  lack  of  guidance  and 
advice. 

But  education  in  these  matters  has  a  much  broader  pur- 
pose than  merely  to  break  up  evil  habits,  or  even  to  prevent 
their  formation.  It  aims  so  to  build  up  character,  to  impart 
information,  to  develop  habits  of  wholesome  thinking,  emo- 
tion, and  action,  that  to  every  possible  situation  the  boy  or 
girl  will  react  in  the  highest  ethical  fashion;  that  love, 
marriage,  the  home,  parenthood,  and  family  life,  may  be 
exalted  and  dignified,  and  a  legacy  of  moral  and  physical 
soundness  handed  on  to  the  generations  following.  In  this 
task  the  parents,  though  taking  the  chief  part,  should  not 
be  alone;  but  the  school,  the  church,  and  every  other  social 
institution,  should  co-operate  with  the  home  in  the  achieve- 
ment of  the  desired  results. 

Our  whole  task  culminates  and  ends  in  the  discussion  of 
the  religious  education  of  the  adolescent.  If  our  race  has 


230    THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

come  into  possession  of  a  true  religion,  or  even  a  religion 
that  is  true  in  all  its  main  essentials,  though  containing  ele- 
ments of  error  in  its  details;  if  we  have  a  religion  that  pre- 
sents the  Supreme  Being  in  a  light  that  is  essentially  worthy; 
a  religion  the  acceptance  of  whose  doctrines  and  the  obser- 
vance of  whose  prescribed  practices  are  favorable  to  the 
highest  morality  and  to  the  happiest  social  order;  a  religion 
that  makes  for  refinement  and  culture;  that  fosters  the 
best  in  all  our  civilization  and  yet  continually  rebukes  that 
civilization  for  its  shortcomings  and  points  the  way  to  better 
things;  a  religion  that  sweetens  and  purifies  every  relation- 
ship of  the  life  that  now  is,  and  fortifies  the  soul  with  hope 
and  courage  regarding  the  life  that  is  to  come;  then  the 
acceptance  and  propagation  of  that  religion,  as  well  as  its 
correction,  becomes  the  duty  of  all  honest  men  and  women, 
and  especially  should  we  recognize  the  obligation  to  "  teach 
it  diligently  unto  our  children." 

The  true  end  of  all  education  is  the  complete  realization 
of  the  ideal  of  personality.  The  character  of  this  ideal  can- 
not be  determined  by  physical,  biological,  or  even  psycholog- 
ical considerations,  taken  by  themselves,  but  must  be  defined 
in  the  broadest  and  most  comprehensive  terms,  with  moral 
and  spiritual  criteria  as  the  final  determinants  of  value.  The 
ideal  product  of  the  educational  process  is  a  balanced  person- 
ality; one  whose  body  is  the  perfect  servant  of  his  will, 
carrying  into  effect  the  behests  of  a  trained  intelligence  and 
the  requirements  of  a  scrupulous  conscience;  whose  judg- 
ment is  so  disciplined  as  not  to  be  readily  turned  aside  by 
falsehood  or  befogged  by  sophistry;  whose  emotions  are 
deep  and  strong,  but  under  perfect  control;  and  whose  con- 
duct is  consistently  directed  in  accordance  with  the  require- 
ments of  truth  and  goodness. 

The  thing  of  supreme  importance,  as  it  seems  to  me,  is 
to  secure  a  real  balance  and  unity  of  the  whole  life,  under 
the  unifying  force  of  the  highest  conceptions.  It  is  only 
thus  that  religious  vagaries  can  be  avoided,  and  religious 
fitfulness  forestalled.  The  very  essence  of  a  genuinely  re- 


THE  PEDAGOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE      231 

ligious  character  lies  in  its  wholeness,  its  spiritual  and  psy- 
cho-physical sanity. 

In  the  religious  education  of  the  child,  then,  the  term 
"  religion  "  should  have  a  broad  interpretation.  Scarcely 
any  object  in  nature,  scarcely  any  event  or  relationship  in 
human  experience,  scarcely  any  power  or  capacity  possessed 
by  the  child,  will  prove  quite  devoid  of  religious  significance. 
Nor  need  one  labor  continually,  in  the  way  of  homily  and 
didactic,  to  bring  out  this  religious  significance.  The  thing 
to  be  borne  always  in  mind  is  that  the  religious  life  is  simply 
life  itself  at  its  fullest  and  best;  of  which  the  converse  is 
this,  that  when  life  is  being  lived  at  its  fullest  and  best,  it 
is  essentially  religious.  Religion  is  not  some  transplanted 
exotic,  it  must  realize  itself  in  the  individual  character  and 
conduct.  And  to  this  realization  almost  everything  may  be 
contributory:  the  flowers  and  trees  and  fruits;  the  birds 
and  the  beasts;  the  products  of  the  soil,  the  mine,  the  forest, 
and  the  sea;  the  processes  of  nature,  and  the  works  of 
men's  hands;  even  food  and  clothing,  and  the  familiar 
things  of  home  life.  If  in  childhood  God  is  recognized  as 
the  creator  of  these  objects,  and  the  giver  of  "  every  good 
and  perfect  gift,"  not  at  all  in  any  labored  fashion, 
or  with  any  awesome  or  mystical  meaning,  but  in 
that  simple,  natural  way,  in  which  the  child  so  readily  in- 
terprets his  blessings  and  acknowledges  the  goodness  of  their 
source,  the  result  is  a  genuinely  religious  achievement. 
This  is  what  we  mean  by  saying  that  the  religious  life  is  just 
life  itself,  at  its  healthiest  and  best;  that  the  religious  inter- 
pretation of  things  is  just  the  truest  and  broadest  and  high- 
est interpretation;  that  religious  behavior  is  just  behavior 
in  its  best  sense;  and  that  religious  duty  is  just  duty,  most 
adequately  conceived  and  most  fully  carried  out. 

There  are  many  features  about  the  period  of  youth  that 
make  it  a  time  of  special  opportunity  for  the  religious 
teacher.  Most  of  these  have  been  pointed  out  in  the  fore- 
going chapters.  There  is  abounding  life,  vitality,  and  vigor. 
There  is  a  maximum  of  enthusiastic  interest  in  things,  and 


232     THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

a  minimum  of  cynicism  and  bitterness.  Hope  is  unclouded, 
faith  is  buoyant,  and  charity  is  broad  and  generous.  The 
intellect  is  easily  persuaded  into  regarding  all  things  as 
products  of  supreme  wisdom  and  all  events  as  under  the 
control  of  supreme  beneficence.  Youth  is  by  nature  theistic 
and  idealistic. 

The  moral  attitude  is  not  mercenary.  Disinterested  de- 
votion to  others,  and  to  duty  for  its  own  sake,  can  be 
counted  on;  more  than  in  childhood,  whose  conceptions  are 
restricted  in  area,  concrete  in  quality,  and  largely  under  the 
control  of  the  empirical  ego;  and  more  than  in  mature  life, 
when  the  heart  may  have  become  chilled  by  contact  with  a 
social  order  that  is  honeycombed  with  injustice  and  cruelty, 
when  altruism  and  idealism  are  found  to  have  but  little 
value  in  the  world's  markets,  and  when  the  roseate  dreams 
and  visions  of  an  earlier  age  are  only  too  likely  to  have 
faded  into  the  light  of  common  day. 

The  touch  of  living  personality,  as  found  in  the  members 
of  his  own  family,  his  school  companions,  his  acquaintances 
of  the  other  sex,  his  teachers  and  elders,  whether  in  school 
or  church,  meets,  at  this  time  of  life,  with  its  readiest  and 
warmest  response.  And,  as  I  have  said,  response  to  the 
touch  of  personality  is  the  tap-root  of  religion.  Substitute 
for  all  finite  and  fallible  personalities  that  of  the  infinitely 
good  and  great,  and  in  the  response  to  that  you  have  the 
essence  of  religion.  The  heart  in  youth  is  hungry  for  com- 
munion with  a  personality  that  is  worthy  of  adoration  and 
service,  eager  to  let  itself  go  out  to  such  a  personality  in 
service  and  sacrifice.  The  problem  of  the  Christian  teacher 
here  is  not  so  much  to  convince  the  intellect  of  the  truth  of 
certain  abstract  propositions  about  Christ,  as  to  hold  up 
before  the  pupil  the  exquisite  personality  of  Christ,  as 
worthy  of  the  highest  devotion  and  the  most  complete  serv- 
ice that  can  be  rendered.  From  the  pedagogical  point  of 
view  Christianity  possesses,  in  the  character  of  its  founder, 
an  immeasurable  advantage  over  all  other  religions  that 
have  sought  to  win  the  adherence  of  the  sons  of  men. 


THE  PEDAGOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE     233 

We  have  referred  in  previous  chapters  to  the  progressive 
unification  of  the  psychic  powers  and  the  progressive  inte- 
gration of  the  psychic  processes  and  contents,  that  mark  the 
advance  from  immaturity  to  maturity.  This  process  is  in 
full  swing  in  the  adolescent  years.  It  has  its  physical  basis 
in  the  integration  of  the  nervous  system,  which  is  the  ap- 
paratus and  the  vehicle  of  mental  activity.  It  has  its  in- 
tellectual aspect  in  the  development  and  consolidation  of 
the  apperceptive  centers  and  systems.  It  has  its  moral  as- 
pect in  the  progressive  organization  of  desires  and  pur- 
poses about  a  common  center,  and  the  subordination  of  all 
partial  and  special  ends  under  one  supreme  end  or  life- 
purpose.  It  has  its  theological  aspect  in  that  supreme  syn- 
thesis in  which  all  things  in  nature  and  human  experience 
are  apprehended  in  their  common  relation  to  a  Supreme 
Being,  in  whom  they  consist,  who  is  the  ground  of  their 
explanation,  and  the  final  cause  of  their  existence. 

Religion,  on  its  rational  side,  means  the  persistent  effort 
to  complete  this  ultimate  synthesis,  to  give  logical  formula- 
tion to  the  content  of  faith,  and  to  "  see  all  things  in  God." 
The  mind  in  youth  requires  but  little  stimulation  in  this 
direction.  It  has  a  zest  for  this  sort  of  activity.  And  if, 
in  its  pursuit  of  these  profound  questions,  it  encounters 
difficulties,  and  feels  the  temptation  to  doubt,  the  remedy 
lies,  not  in  closing  the  door  upon  such  inquiries,  but  in  fling- 
ing it  more  widely  open.  These  searchings  and  probings, 
these  investigations  and  criticisms,  are  important  factors 
in  the  development  of  the  mental  powers,  as  well  as  valuable 
means  by  which  the  mind  may  come  into  possession  of  the 
reasoned  religious  convictions  of  maturity,  in  place  of  the 
unreasoned  religious  convictions  of  immaturity. 

It  is  desirable,  however,  that  the  youthful  inquirer  should 
realize  the  limitations  of  his  mental  powers,  and  that  he 
should  not  insist  on  having  all  his  problems  solved  over- 
night. If  this  can  be  accomplished,  he  will  be  saved  a  great 
deal  of  unnecessary  spiritual  unrest,  without  having  any 
hurtful  handicap  laid  upon  the  process  of  investigation. 


234    THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 

Religion,  in  its  emotional  aspects,  calls  for  the  develop- 
ment of  sympathy,  reverence,  positive  and  negative  self- 
feeling  in  true  proportion,  and  above  all,  love,  directed  first 
to  God,  and  then  to  all  that  God  loves.  The  religious 
teacher  will  find  in  the  heart  of  the  adolescent  a  soil  highly 
favorable  to  the  germination  and  growth  of  emotional  qual- 
ities. One  of  his  tasks  will  be,  I  think,  to  see  to  it  that 
religious  experience  does  not  begin  and  end  in  mere  emo- 
tion. True  emotion  is  the  child  of  ideas,  the  product  of 
reflection  and  conviction.  Shallow  and  specious  emotion 
may  be  aroused  readily  enough  by  imagery,  oratory,  music, 
pictures,  and  the  like,  without  any  real  solid  thinking.  This 
kind  of  religious  experience  is  distinguished  chiefly  by  its 
evanescence. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  seems  quite  possible  to  present  the 
intellectual  content  of  religion  in  such  a  way  as  to  make 
practically  no  impingement  on  the  emotions.  This  is,  if 
possible,  a  worse  error  than  the  other,  since  love,  rather 
than  knowledge,  is  at  the  heart  of  religion.  "  Though  I 
have  the  gift  of  prophecy,  and  understand  all  mysteries  and 
all  knowledge,  and  have  not  love,  I  am  nothing."  The 
ideal  of  religious  education  is  such  a  clear  and  true  conception 
of  God,  and  of  the  meaning  and  purpose  of  human  life  in  re- 
lation to  God,  as  shall  keep  the  fires  of  love  and  reverence 
and  devotion  burning  with  a  bright  and  steady  flame. 

Having  said  this,  we  hardly  need  add  anything  regard- 
ing the  motor  or  volitional  aspect  of  religious  education. 
The  springs  of  action  lie  in  clear  conceptions  and  strong 
convictions  as  to  the  supreme  value  of  certain  ends,  together 
with  the  emotional  glow  which  these  engender.  Men  are 
always  ready  enough  to  labor  for  that  which  they  love, 
and  that  which  they  are  persuaded  is  worth  while.  Faith 
and  love  and  conviction  not  only  issue  naturally  in  service, 
but  they  require  the  outgoing  or  motor  activities  in  order 
to  complete  themselves.  Unless  they  find  an  outlet  in  serv- 
ice, they  fail  to  develop ;  they  smother  and  die. 

And  so  the  religious  life  is  a  great  final  organization 


THE  PEDAGOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE      235 

and  synthesis,  involving  many  lesser  syntheses  and  organiza- 
tions. It  means  the  synthesis  and  organization  of  the  psy- 
chical capacities  and  powers,  under  the  guidance  of  the 
highest  conceptions  and  ideals  of  truth  and  goodness,  mak- 
ing the  individual  life  a  true  unity.  It  means  the  synthesis 
of  all  partial  and  limited  Reals  under  the  conception  of  a 
Supreme  Real  in  which  they  all  consist.  And  it  means  the 
elimination  of  all  discordance  between  these  two  —  the 
dominant  life-ideal  on  the  one  side,  and  the  concept  of  the 
Highest  Being  on  the  other  —  in  such  a  way  that  the  serv- 
ice of  God  and  of  one's  fellow-men  in  everyday  life  will 
be  the  natural  response,  alike  to  the  requirements  of  a  con- 
sistent theology  and  to  the  demands  of  a  moral  imperative. 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  ADOLESCENCE 
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INDEX 


Adolescence,      5;      first     period     of, 

44  f . ;  second  period  of,  45  f. 
/Esthetics,    148-159,   218  f. 
Alexander,    J.    L.,    37. 
Altruism,    179. 
Animals,  i6of. 
Appetite,  34-5. 

Balfour,   A.   J.,    78,    159. 

Blood,   circulation   of,   29. 

Body,  the,  24-36;   growth  of,  26  f. 

Boyhood,    12  f .,    109. 

Brain,   29. 

Bunyan,   John,   201. 

Caird,   Edward,   84. 

Caldo,  147. 

Childhood,  n;  characteristics  of,  12, 

109,    167. 

Children  and  adults,  3  f. 
Christ,  232. 
Coe,  G.  A.,  54,  125. 
Color,  86. 
Conception,   94  f . 
Construction,   instinct   of,    67  f . 
Control,    8,    inf.;    muscular,     113, 

207  f . 

Conversion,    191  f.,    195  f. 
Conviction,    196  f. 
Curiosity,   67. 

Doubt,  98  f.,  191  f. 

Education,  120;  physical,  215  f.; 
moral,  219  f.;  sex,  224-229;  re- 
ligious, 229-235. 

Emotion,  70-82 ;  primary  vs.  second- 
ary, 72  f.;  James'  theory  of,  73  f. 

Eugenics,   136. 


Feeling,  41  f. 
Freedom,  209,  221. 


Games,    108. 

Greeks,  educational  ideal  of,  33-34. 

Habit,   47,    109  f.,    113-118,   217. 

Hall,  G.  S.,  167. 

Hallucinations,  99. 

Haslett,    S.   B.,    36. 

Health,    34. 

Hearing,   86  f. 

Height,  28. 

Hero-worship,   181,   215. 

Home,  213  f. 

Hume,  David,  121. 

Imagination,  90-91,  97. 

Imitation,   112. 

Insanity,  100,   131. 

Instinct,  47-69 ;   social,  60  f. ;   sexual, 

64;  parental,  64,  217. 
Intellect,  41,  83-100. 
Interest,  108  f. 

James,  William,  48,  53,  63,  106,  122. 

Judgment,  94  f. 

Justice,  222. 

Juvenile  criminality,   175  f. 

Kant,   163,  220. 
King,  I.,  214. 

Lancaster,  E.  G.,  150. 
Larynx,    30. 
Life-stages,   2,   9-23. 
Love,    136. 
Lukens,  H.  T.,   155. 
Lungs,  30. 
Lying,  168  f. 

Mark,  T.,  221. 
Marshall,  H.  R.,  71. 
McDougal,  W.,  48,  57,  72,  73. 
Maturity,   19  f. 


245 


246 


INDEX 


Memory,  89-90. 

Mind,  in  general,   37-46;   states  of, 

39  f. 

Moods,  80,  99,  108. 
Morals,  25,  120,  160-181,  232. 
Morgan,  C.  Lloyd,  48. 
Muscles,  30. 
Music,   153. 

Nature,   77  f.,  86,  212  f. 
Nerves,  30,   102  f . 
Nicoll,  Sir  W.  R.,  no. 

Pedagogy,  206-235. 

Perception,  94  f . 

Personality,   180,  213  f.,  232. 

Pictorial   art,   1531". 

Plato,   157-8. 

Play,   61  f.,  216  f. 

Procreation,   136. 

Property,  instinct  of,  66  f .,  124  f. 

Puberty,    i6f. 

Punishment,  177  f. 

Reasoning,  93  f. 

Recapitulation,  theory  of,  22,  223. 

Religion,    25,    120,    130,    141-2,    157, 

182-205. 

Repulsion,  instinct  of,  68. 
Royce,  J.,  122. 

School,  214. 

Scott,   C.  A.,   156. 

Self    (ego),  4of.,  55  f.,   121  f. 


Self-abatement,  5!. 
Self-assertion,  58. 
Self-consciousness,   119-131. 
Self-examination,    165  f. 
Self-preservation,   instinct  of,    123. 
Senescence,  21-22. 
Senses,  85. 

Sex,  31  f.,  76,  126  f.,  132-147,  156. 
Sexes,  differences  between,   i34f. 
Sight,  86. 
Skeleton,  30  f. 
Smell,  88. 

Social  consciousness,  125. 
Space,   perception   of,   86. 
Spencer,  Herbert,  182,  209. 
Suicide,  171  f. 

Tanner,  A.  E.,  141. 
Teleology,  6  f .,  64. 
Temperature,   88-9. 
Tennyson,    146. 
Theft,  i67f.,  i73f. 
Thomson  and  Geddes,  136. 
Touch,  87. 
Tracy,  F.,  153,  162. 
Training,  220. 

Vices,    i68f. 

Vocation,  128. 

Volition  (also  Will),  42,  100-118. 

Weight,  27. 

Youth,  period  of,  zz. 


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